


(I'll Follow You) Into the Dark

by rsconne



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Clexa, F/F, Fluff, Minor Character Death, Smut, Soldier!Lexa, Space Violence, Star Trek AU, Starfleet, Time Travel, clexa au, doctor!clarke, science-fiction, space, star-crossed lovers, the final frontier, warfare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-06-16 06:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15431175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsconne/pseuds/rsconne
Summary: TheKSS Polisencounters a spatial anomaly that throws the space-time continuum into chaos.  When Lieutenant Lexa Woods and Dr. Clarke Griffin meet, will it disrupt the fabric of the universe?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Roughly set during the ST: TNG timeline.  
> Sir is used as a generic military honorific.

  _I_ _f heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied_  
_And illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs_  
_If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks_  
_Then I'll follow you into the dark_

 

* * *

  _Captain’s Log Stardate 2366.7_

_The Polis is en route to the Kongeda colony on Nortia Prime.  There we will rendezvous with the KSS Melbourne and escort a contingent of esteemed scientists to a terraforming conference at Starbase 214.  Our course will take us near a remote section of the Neutral Zone with the Maunon.  Although we have had little contact with the Maunon for nearly two decades, we must nonetheless exercise vigilance.  Since we are some two days ahead of schedule, Starfleet has ordered us to conduct long-range scans and gather as much intelligence as we can on the region._

*********

Captain Anya Hunter walked along the _Polis’s_ warmly-lit corridors, nodding acknowledgement at the crew members she met on her way to the Officers’ Living Quarters.  She halted outside a door and paused for a beat before pressing the door buzzer. 

A muffled, “Come in!” followed the chime.  The doors quietly snicked open and Anya entered. 

“Captain!  Welcome!”  Raven Reyes, the ship’s chief engineer, waved her into her quarters, where three other senior officers sat around a green baize-covered table.  They each had cards in hands and poker chips arranged in neat piles in front of them.  A chorus of greetings went up from the table.   

Anya firmly tamped down the flurry of uncertainty that still flared on these evenings, even now.  She knew she was welcome, but it had still taken something of a leap of faith for her to make the overture to join the senior officers’ longstanding weekly card game a few months earlier.  She’d commanded the _Polis_ for almost three years, knew her officers’ strengths and foibles to a T, would trust any of them with her life— _had_ , on many occasions.  Yet she’d still been reluctant to be too social, too familiar, for fear of undermining the necessary discipline on which all their lives depended.  Or worse, diminishing her officers’ limited opportunities for relaxation—for who could truly blow off steam in the presence of their commanding officer?  She’d quickly learned that these concerns were overblown; her officers genuinely enjoyed these less formal interactions, and getting to know the individuals behind the uniforms only strengthened the mutual bonds among them.  But she’d had the mantra _to be Captain is to be alone_ drilled into her long ago, and so the nerves still came.

“Pull up a chair, Captain,” Raven said.  “What can I get you to drink?”

“Actually, I figured it was my turn to bring the refreshments,” Anya replied with a smile.  She handed Raven the bottle she’d brought and took a seat between Nyko Douglas, the ship’s doctor, and Indra Hawthorne, her first officer. 

Raven’s lips pursed in a silent whistle as she accepted the bottle of single-malt whiskey.  Her eyes flicked to Anya’s as if looking for confirmation.  “Breaking out the good stuff tonight.  In that case….”  She fetched glasses from the sideboard next to the replicator unit and quickly poured drinks and handed them around the table.  Resuming her seat, she tilted her glass at the captain in a little salute and took a sip.  While Echo Frost, the ship’s security chief, shuffled and dealt the next hand, Raven rubbed her hands together gleefully and said, “All right, who’s ready to lose some money?” 

Over the next hour, chips moved back and forth across the table with the ebb and flow of the cards.  Despite Raven’s brash talk, the financial pot was almost insignificant—for what use was money on a Kongeda starship?  Rather, the real currency at stake was bragging rights, and none of the egos at the table liked to lose. 

Anya folded almost immediately on a particularly worthless hand.  She sat back and nursed her drink and let the trash talk and conversation about their recent voyage through the Glowing Nebula wash over her as she observed her officers in a candid moment.  She’d discovered very quickly that their individual personalities bled through in their cardplaying.  Raven was unpredictable, with a tendency for bold, go-for-broke strokes; the doctor, meanwhile, rarely took risks and couldn’t bluff to save his life.  Consequently, he rarely won many large pots because staying in the game was a dead giveaway that he had a good hand.  Echo was cunning, hard to read, subtle, perhaps the best player of them all.  Indra was nearly so, with a deadly poker face.  Ironically, Anya found that to be her tell—her bluff was so impassive that it gave her away if you knew what to look for.  And Anya did; she’d had Indra at her side since she took command.  She was the best first officer she could’ve hoped for: loyal to a fault, decisive, commanding respect in her own right.  But perhaps lacking that little kernel of ambition, because she should have risen to command of her own vessel long before this, instead turning down promotions to remain at Anya’s right hand.  Anya made a mental note to nudge her on the subject again, before her window of opportunity closed and her career stalled.           

And what did her own play reveal?  Anya’s lip curled in a faint smile as she imagined how her officers might perceive her.  _Ruthless_. 

Anya tuned back into the conversation just as a tense duel between Echo and Raven reached its denouement.  Raven was on the verge of going all in when the communication system interrupted.

“Bridge to Captain Hunter.”

The helmsman, Lincoln Forrest.  Anya tapped her comm badge.  “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“Captain, we’re picking up a gravimetric disturbance on our scans.  I think you’ll probably want to see this.”

“On my way.”  Anya set her glass down and got to her feet.  “It looks like we’ll have to finish this another time,” she said regretfully.  Indra and Echo were already pushing their chairs back to leave, too. 

Raven gave a heavy sigh and a final, mournful look at her cards.  “Best hand I’ve had all night,” she grumbled.  She laid her cards down in resignation and followed her colleagues out the door to take up her duty station. 

*********

Anya strode onto the bridge.  “Report, Mr. Forrest,” she said crisply, taking her seat in the comfortable, leather-upholstered captain’s chair.  The rest of her senior bridge crew trailed in her wake and assumed their stations.

Lincoln tapped at the keypad on his console.  “We’ve been conducting long-range subspace scans, as ordered.  Our most recent sweep picked up an anomaly approximately one hundred thousand kilometers off the starboard bow.”

“What kind of anomaly?”

“Unknown.  It appears to be a gravimetric distortion, but unlike any we’ve encountered before.”

“On screen.”  Lincoln dutifully projected the area onto the monitor wall.  The distortion, opaque, and so black it almost appeared blue, split the inky darkness of deep space. 

“Sir, our navigational systems are unable to identify coordinates on the disturbance.  It doesn’t appear to have a definite center or periphery,” added the science officer, Lieutenant Monty Green. 

“How can that be?”  Indra asked sharply.  “Are you saying it exists—and yet it doesn’t?”

Monty shook his head, perplexed.  “I don’t have enough information to make a determination yet.”     

The Captain stood and took a few preoccupied steps toward the screen as she absorbed the image, then queried, “Mr. Green, could a probe penetrate the disturbance?”

He considered his display and answered in the affirmative. “I believe so, Captain.”

“Launch a Category two probe, Lieutenant.  And Mr. Forrest, take us within twenty thousand kilometers, thrusters only.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Captain, we’re on the edge of the Neutral Zone,” Indra cautioned quietly. 

“I’m aware, Commander,” Anya replied, “but if this rift has anything to do with the Maunon, Starfleet Command will want to know about it.”  They watched the probe speed its way to the disturbance and then abruptly blink out, like a candle suddenly snuffed out.  “Mr. Green?”

Monty’s hands flitted quickly across his console.  He frowned.  “Sir, sensors are no longer picking up the probe’s signature.  But just before it vanished, I detected a sudden, massive burst of tachyon particles.”

“The disturbance is expanding,” Lincoln said.  On the monitor, the distortion slowly yawned wider and a silvery shimmer roiled at its center.  As they watched, a solid shape began to coalesce in the fog.

“Captain, sensor readings are changing,” Echo interrupted from her security post at the back of the bridge.  “I’m picking up another ship emerging from the anomaly!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally post new chapters right away, but I'm making an exception this time. Current plan is to update weekly, but as we all know, plans don't last long in battle....

“Yellow alert!”  Captain Hunter planted her feet as if bracing for impact.  Her hand unconsciously tightened around the phaser strapped to her hip.  Her eyes narrowed at the shadowy ship slowly taking form on the monitor.  “Load torpedoes and lock phasers.  Lieutenant Woods, what do your scans indicate?  Is that an enemy vessel?”

The slender woman at the security console shook her head.  “There’s too much interference.  I can’t get a good reading.”  She paused her report as new data crossed her screen.  “It’s clearing the distortion now…. Definitely a Kongeda starship, sir.”

Anya’s tension visibly eased.  She resumed her seat and waited expectantly for further information. 

“She looks like she’s seen battle,” Indra observed, noting the scorch marks on the mystery ship’s battered exterior.

“I’m picking up an emergency distress call,” Woods said.  She routed the audio to the bridge speakers.

“ _Mayday mayday mayday. This is Captain Kane of the KSS Arkadia, calling any Kongeda starship.  We have been attacked by Maunon warships and have taken heavy damage.  Life support is failing.  Request immediate assistance.  Mayday mayday mayday…._ ” 

The lieutenant shut off the automated loop.  “Scans confirm that the vessel has sustained significant damage to her hull starboard nacelle.  Warp drive appears to be inoperative.”  She frowned and looked more intently at her console. 

Lincoln voiced her confusion before she had the chance.  “But sir, that doesn’t make sense.  According to these Starfleet records, the _Arkadia_ was destroyed seventeen years ago.”

“ _Presumed_ destroyed,” Lieutenant Woods corrected absently, reading the information on her screen.  “The record shows that she was last reported near the Azgeda outpost on Narendra Three, but destruction was never confirmed.  Structural scans of this vessel indicate that her hull material and construction is consistent with a ship from that era.  Her quantum signature matches ours.”  She looked up from her console and made eye contact with the Captain.  “Sir, she’s the _Arkadia_ , all right.”  

Anya gazed pensively at the other ship, the Kongeda markings now clearly discernible on her hull.  “Where’s she been for the last seventeen years?” she wondered aloud.  “We’re nowhere near Narendra Three, could she have been adrift all that time?”

“Captain, there may be another possibility,” Monty said tentatively.

“Explain.”

Monty swiveled his seat to face the Captain.  “We initially assumed that the anomaly—” he gestured at the screen “—was a gravimetric disturbance, but what if we were wrong?  What if it’s actually a _temporal_ distortion?  That would explain the tachyon burst we detected just before we lost contact with the probe.”  His eyes brightened with excitement as he slowly pursued the line of inquiry.  “In fact, it’s possible that our probe was the catalyst.”  

“Catalyst for what?  What does this have to do with the _Arkadia_?” Anya asked, an impatient note creeping into her voice.

“A temporal rift.  By launching the probe into the anomaly, we inadvertently triggered a rupture in the space-time continuum.”

Lincoln chimed in with an analogy.  “Like tossing a stone into a puddle.”

Monty nodded at him.  “Exactly.  The _Arkadia_ must have been caught up in the ripples and sucked through the anomaly from her time to ours.”

Anya digested the hypothesis with a troubled expression.  “If your theory is correct, the _Arkadia’s_ arrival in the future may have altered the flow of our timeline in unknowable ways.” 

“Captain!”  Lieutenant Woods’ voice was urgent.  “The _Arkadia’s_ suffered massive casualties, and there’s a lot of interference, but I’m picking up sporadic life signs.  There may be survivors.”

Anya nodded decisively.  “Right.  We need answers.  Lieutenant Woods, assemble an away team to investigate and transport the wounded for medical treatment.”

*********

 Lieutenant Lexa Woods materialized aboard the _Arkadia’s_ bridge, phaser at the ready, poised for action.  The emergency transmission and outward signs indicated that the _Arkadia_ had seen heated combat.  There was no way to know whether the distress call was genuine, or whether unknown enemies lurked aboard the other ship, waiting to spring their trap.  Lexa and her team had to be prepared for anything.

As soon as the transporter’s residual beam dissipated (like most people, Lexa had grown used to the split-second of panicked disorientation from a lifetime of teleportation, but she still swore she could _feel_ her atoms jangling together as they reassembled), Lexa hurried into action.  She scanned the low-lit space and assessed the situation for hostiles and other potential threats.  Finding none, her shoulders relaxed and she holstered her phaser.  She made swift eye contact with the other members of her team—Nyko, Raven, a couple of medics, and a security detail—and nodded with the unspoken order for them to look to their assignments.  The security and medical personnel fanned out across the bridge and began securing the ship and locating the wounded.  The doctor followed behind, conducting a rapid triage and sorting the walking wounded from those in need of immediate transport to the _Polis_ sickbay.  Raven concentrated on getting one of the bridge consoles operational in order to pull data off the _Arkadia’s_ mainframe and assess the ship’s operational status.  Lexa, meanwhile, surveyed the bridge for any clues that might explain the ship’s sudden, improbable appearance.

Flickering emergency power and the steady flash of the ship’s red alert indicators provided the only light.  Even in the darkness, Lexa could see that damage to the _Arkadia’s_ interior was as extensive as that to her exterior.  Panels had shaken loose everywhere; along the rear wall, several had failed completely, exposing maintenance shafts and structural supports.  Electrical sparks arced and hissed beneath some of the cracked displays, while others sat ominously still and dark.  Scorch marks marred a section of the wall near the turbolift.  Lexa watched as the security team moved quickly to extinguish flames licking at the edges of the collapsed rear wall.  Chunks of debris littered the room, crushing consoles and toppling chairs under its weight.  And the bodies…. 

Realizing there would be little information to gather until Raven got the computer back online, Lexa focused her efforts on helping the wounded.  The first two crew members that her team located were already dead, probably killed instantly, given their injuries.  But the helmsman, bloodied and slumped over his post, stirred and gave a deep groan, and Nyko ordered the communications officer transported directly to the medbay—alive, but with debilitating burns to her hand and arm. 

“Lieutenant, over here.”  Lexa helped the doctor heft a portion of railing off a man’s body and carefully ease him onto his back.  She knelt beside Nyko while he conducted a tricorder scan.  “It’s the Captain.”  The man looked to be in his early 50s, with dark hair slightly longer than regulation and a neatly-trimmed beard, now matted with blood.  The pallor of his skin accentuated the bruising to his face and an apparently broken nose.  “He’s got a broken arm and major internal trauma, but he’s alive.  I need to get him into surgery.”

Lexa nodded and clapped Nyko on the shoulder in encouragement.  She got to her feet and made her way over to Raven as the transporter locked onto Nyko and his patient and beamed them away.  “Commander, what can you tell me?  If we can’t stabilize the life support systems, we’ll need to evacuate the ship.” 

Raven continued untangling a snarl of wiring as she replied.  “We should be in luck.  Fortunately, these older ships were pretty solidly built.  Not like the half-ass junk Eridani’s churning out today,” she muttered under her breath with disgust.  “The good news is that I can have main power back up and life support stabilized in a few hours.”

“And the bad news?”

Raven glanced up at Lexa’s dry tone and snorted mirthlessly.  “Look around, Lieutenant.  If the rest of the ship is in this kind of shape, it’ll take weeks to restore full functionality.” 

“Somehow I doubt that we’ll have that kind of time.”  She tapped her comm badge to report in.  “Woods to _Polis_.”

Captain Hunter’s clipped voice responded.  “Status report.”

“The _Arkadia_ has sustained heavy damage.  There are numerous casualties, but we’ve transported the most serious cases to our sickbay for treatment.  Captain Kane was unconscious and badly injured; Dr. Douglas just beamed over with him.  Lieutenant Commander Reyes believes she can have the _Arkadia’s_ essential systems functional again in hours, but the rest of the repairs will take much longer.”

“We don’t need her in mint condition, just flightworthy enough to make it to Starbase 214 under escort.  Commander Reyes, how soon can you have her ready?”

Raven let out a slow breath as she considered the question.  “If I just concentrate on restoring shields and repairing the damage to the warp drive and the propulsion system…maybe a week?”

“You’ve got seventy-two hours, Commander.  Every minute we spend here increases the likelihood of being detected by Azgeda.”

At the cautionary look in Lexa’s eye, Raven held her tongue.  “Aye, sir,” she replied with dutiful resignation.

“Lieutenant Woods, have you learned anything more about the _Arkadia’s_ mission and origin?”

Lexa shook her head even though the Captain couldn’t actually see her.  “Negative, Captain.  The ship’s condition is consistent with the kind of attack described in the distress call, but the bridge staff is either dead, unconscious, or missing, and we haven’t been able to access the ship’s logs yet.”

“Understood.  Keep me apprised.  _Polis_ out.”

Lexa stretched to her full height and rotated her neck from side to side to work out a kink.  A stray tendril of sweat-dampened, wavy hair had escaped from her customary bun, and she brushed it out of her face, inadvertently streaking dirt across her cheek.  With the air handlers out of commission, the atmosphere on the _Arkadia_ was stifling, and she could feel her uniform sticking to her body with sweat.  She considered her next move.  Main Engineering, she decided.  If the Captain wanted the ship underway in seventy-two hours, she’d need to evaluate the physical situation in Engineering.     

A sudden commotion and urgent calls for assistance from the rubble along the damaged rear bulkhead spurred her back to action.  One of her security team waved her over.  “Sir, I think I heard a voice.  Someone’s trapped!”

They quickly went to work tossing aside debris, but the bottommost panels were pinned in place by a heavy metal beam.  Lexa put her back into it, and she and her crewman just managed to shift the heavy weight aside.  With the main obstacle removed, it took only a few short minutes to clear away the rest, revealing a woman trapped in an air pocket underneath the wreckage.        

Lexa’s head swam for an instant and she steadied herself with a hand on an exposed support beam.  She chalked the sudden dizzy spell up to the poor ventilation, because it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the woman sprawled on the ground beneath her.  She was filthy.  Her face and torn uniform were caked with dust and smoke, her hands and fingernails were scraped almost raw from trying to claw her way free, her blonde hair was stringy and matted with sweat and dirt, and blood oozed freely from a gash on her forehead. 

 _She’s beautiful_.  _And fierce._

The thoughts popped into Lexa’s head unbidden and she shook herself to cast them off.  Unaware that she was staring, it took her a moment to realize that the woman was trying to haul herself upright.  Lexa knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder to gently urge her back down.  “Shh, stay still.  We need a medic to check your injuries and see whether it’s ok to move you.” 

At first the woman froze at her touch, but she quickly resumed her struggle.  She replied in a testy, gravelly voice that sent an electric frisson down Lexa’s spine.  “I’m perfectly capable of determining that myself, I _am_ a doctor.”  She stubbornly pushed herself into a sitting position.  Her blue eyes, starkly vivid against her dust-blackened skin, flashed defiantly and widened just a fraction when she finally got a good look at Lexa.  Her breath seemed to come a little faster, too, but Lexa attributed that to the effort of sitting up.  “Ship’s Doctor Clarke Griffin.  Who the hell are you?”            


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn what happened to the mystery ship, and Lieutenant Woods is intrigued by the _Arkadia's_ pretty, blonde doctor....

Lexa was prowling restlessly outside Sickbay when Anya walked up.  At the sight of the Captain, she stopped pacing and inclined her chin in greeting.  “Captain.”   

“Lieutenant.  What can you tell me?”

“We had a stroke of good fortune in rescuing the _Arkadia_ ’s medical officer, Dr. Griffin.  As instructed, I avoided mentioning where and when we are, but I believe Clarke— _Dr. Griffin_ —was aware that I was keeping her in the dark.”  Lexa’s cheeks colored at the inadvertent use of the doctor’s name.  “She didn’t tell me much, but whether she couldn’t or _wouldn’t_ is hard to say.  She might just be in shock from the attack, or she might be being deliberately tight-lipped.”  Given the mutinous set of Clarke’s— _the doctor’s_ —jaw ( _why_ did she keep making that mistake?), Lexa would have put money on the latter, but she knew that she couldn’t base her report to her Captain on the suspicious glint in a pair of blue eyes.  “She wasn’t happy that I insisted she be transported to the _Polis_ for evaluation, she wanted to get right to work treating her crew.  She’s feisty,” Lexa remarked, not quite able to control the twitch at the corner of her lips or keep the note of admiration from her voice.  “I didn’t want to leave her in sickbay unattended for fear she might try to beam back to the _Arkadia_.”

Anya studied her subordinate thoughtfully, but her expression gave nothing away.  “Dr. Douglas says Captain Kane should be awake soon, too.  Let’s see what they have to say.”  She walked briskly into sickbay. 

Lexa fell into step behind her.  She felt strangely off-kilter and found herself wishing she’d had a chance to freshen up before she came face-to-face with the _Arkadia’s_ doctor again.  She’d tucked her flyaway hair back into its neat bun, and she’d taken a moment to wipe the dirt off her face.  But her maroon-and-black jumpsuit was stained with dirt and sweat and grease, and she was sure she probably smelled.  She snuck a surreptitious sniff of herself, gratified that at least she didn’t detect any overtly rank odor.  It didn’t occur to her to consider why she wanted to look presentable for the good doctor, yet her appearance when briefing her own Captain hadn’t crossed her mind.   

Sickbay was a hive of activity.  With the _Arkadia’s_ crew receiving treatment, it was far busier than usual.  Nearly every bed was full, and nurses and orderlies bustled to and fro with hyposprays and tricorders at the ready. 

Nyko met them just inside the door.  “Captain, I’m glad you’re here.”  He motioned for them to follow him over to one of the beds.  “Captain Kane is out of surgery and regaining consciousness.  He’s been asking for you.  Well, for the Captain,” he amended.

Captain Kane lay half-propped in his bed.  His eyes were closed and there were dark circles under them, but Lexa was relieved to see that his color looked far better than when she’d seen him on the _Arkadia_.  She spared him only a cursory glance, though, because Dr. Griffin was standing at the foot of the bed paging through the patient’s chart on a padd.  Since Lexa had escorted her to Sickbay, she’d corralled her disheveled hair back with two tiny braids.  Her head wound was dressed with a neat bandage.  Her uniform was still a shredded mess, but she’d scrubbed the grime from her face and hands, and Lexa realized that her first impression had been all too accurate: Clarke was stunning.  Despite the Captain at her elbow and the whirl of controlled chaos all around her, Lexa found it difficult to focus on anyone else.  She unconsciously straightened her posture.          

“And you are?” Anya asked, looking pointedly at Clarke. 

Lexa hastened to make the introduction, but Clarke beat her to it.  “Dr. Clarke Griffin, ship’s doctor, _KSS Arkadia_ ,” she replied coolly, seemingly unruffled by Anya’s abrupt challenge. 

“I’m Captain Anya Hunter, and this is our Chief Medical Officer Nyko Douglas.”  She flicked a side-eyed glance at Lexa.  “I believe you’ve already met my security chief, Lieutenant Lexa Woods.”

Clarke nodded respectfully at Anya and handed the chart over to Nyko, not at all disconcerted at being caught in the breach of protocol of assessing a patient not her own.  “Impressive work, doctor.”  She started to leave, but Anya stopped her.

“Just a minute, doctor, my questions concern you, too.”      

Their voices roused Kane.  His eyelids fluttered open and his gaze roved uncertainly over the little throng of people clustered by his bed, finally landing with relief on Clarke’s familiar countenance.

“I’m Captain Anya Hunter.  You’re aboard a Kongeda starship, the _Polis_.”

“Captain Marcus Kane of the _Arkadia_.”  He struggled into a more upright position.

“Captain, I’m sure you can appreciate that I have questions—”

“And I’ll be happy to answer them, but first, how’s my ship?  My crew?”

“Your ship took heavy damage.  My people are working to repair her critical systems.  Your crew….” Anya’s tone softened, as if to lighten the blow she understood far too well herself.  “I’m sorry to report that there were numerous losses among your crew.”

“Thirty-seven,” Clarke broke in quietly.  She stepped forward and addressed her Captain directly.  “Thirty-seven dead so far, a number of others are still touch and go.  Lieutenant Commander Blake had a compound leg fracture.  It’s healed nicely and I’m told he’ll be released soon.  Ensign Larch sustained third-degree plasma burns to her arm, but once the skin grafts take effect, she should make a full recovery.  But Wells….”  She gave a broken sigh and took a moment to compose herself before she continued.  Lexa caught the slight quaver in her voice and the effort it required her to steel herself to say the words.  “Lieutenant Jaha is dead.”

A pained look crossed Kane’s face, and he closed his eyes for an instant.  “Thank you, Doctor.  Keep me informed of any developments.”  He directed his attention back to Anya.  “On behalf of my crew, thank you for coming to our assistance.  I think it’s no exaggeration to say that you saved all our lives, certainly mine.” 

Anya’s lips had tightened with impatience at the interruptions, but Lexa saw the look of grudging respect she accorded Kane and Clarke at their regard for their people.  “I’m happy we could be of assistance.  We’re still trying to piece together what happened.  Can you tell me what you remember?”

“We were on a routine surveying mission when we picked up a distress call from an Azgeda outpost on Narendra Three.  When we arrived, we found them under attack from Maunon warships.  We tried to drive them off, or at least evacuate the survivors, but it was four against one.  The _Arkadia_ took a pounding.  Our shields failed.  We were just about to be destroyed when somehow the enemy vanished and we found ourselves…here.”  He cast a cautious eye around the medbay.

“And you didn’t see what happened to the Maunon vessels?” Anya queried.

“No.  I ordered a final volley of photon torpedoes, there was a sudden burst of light, and then nothing.  To tell you the truth, I think I passed out.” 

“Starfleet will want to hear your report on the Maunon,” Anya began, but Kane cut her off.

“Captain, what’s going on here?  Why are you asking me about the distress call?  Surely you must have heard it, too.”  When Anya didn’t immediately respond, he pressed further.  “You say you’re Kongeda, but your uniforms aren’t familiar.  I’ve never seen a vessel like this.  In fact, I’ve never even heard of the _Polis_.”  He gestured at their surroundings and looked around in awe.  “This technology…I’ve not seen anything like it even on Earth.  Our injuries—mine, my crew’s—should take days to heal, not hours.  By rights, I should be dead.”

Anya considered him carefully, aware that if their situations were reversed, she’d want to know the truth.  Before she could respond, Indra’s voice called her over the comm system.

“Bridge to Captain Hunter.”

She keyed her communicator.  “Hunter here.”

“Sir, we’ve received an urgent subspace communication from Starfleet Command.  Azgeda warbirds have been detected in our sector.”

Anya held back a curse.  _Azgeda_.  That was _all_ they needed right now.  “Understood.  Resume yellow alert.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Computer, hail the _Arkadia_.”

Lieutenant Commander Reyes responded. 

“Commander, seventy-two hours may have been optimistic.  Can you have the _Arkadia_ underway sooner?” 

“Unlikely, Captain.”  Raven’s voice was firm.  “We have to fabricate parts to repair the nacelle and the warp drive, the _Polis_ doesn’t carry replacements for a ship this old.  Our replicators are working as fast as they can.” 

“Very well.  Hunter out.”  This time Anya couldn’t mask the colorful language that slipped out.

Kane followed the brief exchanges with growing confusion and concern.  “But we’re in the midst of peace negotiations with Azgeda, there’s a cease-fire in place.  And what did she mean by ‘a ship this old?’  What the hell is going on?”

Anya was blunter than she might have been a moment ago; with the new Azgeda threat on the board, she had little time or energy to spare for feelings.  “Captain, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your ship passed through a temporal anomaly.  It’s still unclear what caused it—perhaps our probe, perhaps your torpedo barrage—but the _Arkadia_ has traveled seventeen years into the future.”            

Kane slumped back on his bed, speechless.  Lexa ventured a peek at Clarke.  Her face had gone white and she looked just as shellshocked as her Captain.  “And Azgeda?  The peace talks?” Kane asked faintly, casting about in vain for something familiar.

“There is no record of any peace negotiations between Azgeda and the Kongeda.  It’s unfortunate that your rescue attempt did not succeed—it might have offered an opening that could have prevented seventeen years of war.”

Kane mustered his composure quickly, considering the circumstances.  “I see.  Well, Captain, the _Arkadia_ is ready to contribute however we can.”

“I’ll need to submit a report to Starfleet Command and request guidance—this is obviously an unprecedented situation,” Anya said.  “In the meantime, my people will work with yours to expedite repairs.  I’d prefer to get underway as soon as possible, before Azgeda gets wind of our location.” 

“Agreed.  Captain, has anyone notified my crew?”

Anya hesitated.  “I’ll leave that up to you.  For now, it may be prudent not to reveal any more than necessary.  It may be best if they don’t have a great deal of knowledge of the future, in case…”

“In case what?”

Anya met his eyes.  “In case the _Arkadia_ needs to return through the rift.”

“Go _back_?”  Kane stared back at her in disbelief.  “Going back would be _suicide_ , we were nearly destroyed as it was.” 

Anya hummed noncommittally.  “In any case, Lieutenant Woods will organize temporary quarters for your displaced crew.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed on the bridge.”  She nodded a curt farewell to Lexa and Clarke and took her leave.

“Dr. Griffin?” Lexa said.  The doctor still looked flummoxed, and Lexa wondered how much of the conversation beyond _seventeen years into the future_ had really registered.  She’d clearly known she wasn’t being given the full picture, but whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been _that_.  “Dr. Griffin?  Clarke?” Lexa tried again.  That seemed to cut through Clarke’s haze.  Her eyes refocused on Lexa.  “Let me show you to your quarters.”

“Right!  Of course,” Clarke said, following Lexa out of sickbay and down the corridor to the turbolift.  She still seemed dazed.  Lexa didn’t try to break the silence with forced conversation.  Between the adrenaline rush of the attack and its aftermath, and the twin traumas of casualties and temporal dislocation, Lexa suspected that Clarke was barely holding herself together.         

Lexa finally stopped and keyed the entry to a vacant set of quarters.  She ushered Clarke in and gave her a quick tour, indicating the sleeping quarters (decidedly _not_ looking at the bed), and pointing out the computer and replicator controls. 

“I imagine you’d like something clean to wear,” Lexa said. 

Clarke looked down and wrinkled her nose at her dirty, stained uniform.  “God, yes,” she said fervently. 

“The replicator can fabricate clothing.  Although I’m not sure the computer has that vintage of uniform in its database,” Lexa said teasingly.

Clarke snorted a rueful laugh.  “Thank you, Lieutenant…Woods?”

“Lexa, please.”  Lexa started to go, but it pained her to leave Clarke alone.  She had both arms wrapped around her midsection, as if to physically keep herself from coming apart, and she looked completely adrift.  Lexa turned back toward her.  Offering comfort wasn’t a natural instinct for her.  Loss was an ever-present accompaniment in Starfleet, one they’d all had to come to terms with in order to function in a world in which every day might be their last.  Lexa had learned long ago to cultivate the dull numbness of indifference, rather than succumb to sentiment that only led to indescribable heartache.  And yet somehow this out-of-time stranger awakened a reckless compulsion to cast aside those hard-learned lessons.

“I’m sorry about your officer.  Lieutenant Jaha,” Lexa said quietly.  Clarke looked up sharply, perhaps really _seeing_ Lexa for the first time since they’d left sickbay.  Her cheeks were damp; all it would take was a simple brush of Lexa’s thumb to reach out and smudge them dry, but somehow Lexa couldn’t seem to make her arm work. 

“Thank you.”  Clarke’s head dipped in acknowledgment of Lexa’s gesture.  “We went to the Academy together, had some of the same courses together.  I thought he was a goody two shoes at first, and he thought I was a know-it-all.  We were both right—and wrong.”  Her quick smile didn’t reach her eyes.  “He pulled off some legendary pranks because no one suspected that serious, sweet Wells had a devious streak.  Pushing myself to keep up with him made me a better doctor.  He was so excited when the science officer slot on the _Arkadia_ opened up….”  She swallowed around the lump in her throat.  “He was my best friend.”               

Clarke looked over at Lexa and read the understanding and masked grief on her face.  “You’ve lost people, too,” she stated simply.

Lexa exhaled slowly and looked away.  “More than I can count.”  Her jaw worked for a moment, and strong emotion shone in her eyes when she met Clarke’s gaze again.  “Her name was Costia,” she said softly, not elaborating further.        

A reflective, tranquil silence fell between them.  It might have been minutes or only microseconds, but they both seemed lighter for it.  Lexa felt, rather than saw, Clarke sway on tired legs, and she forced herself to break the moment.  “I should get back to my duties and let you rest.  Please call if you need anything.”

“I will.”  Clarke smiled, a genuine one this time.  “Thank you, Lieut— _Lexa_.”

Lexa flashed a tiny smile in return and ducked hastily out the door.

*********

Anya returned to the bridge craving a few moments of solitude to process the chaotic developments of the past several hours.  It was not to be. 

“Any new developments?”

“No, sir,” Indra replied.  “No signs of Azgeda as yet.  Commander Reyes’s team is continuing repairs aboard the _Arkadia_.  We’re still monitoring the temporal distortion.”  On screen, the anomaly swirled and shimmered on cue.

Anya heaved a silent sigh of relief, but didn’t let it show.  “I’ll be in my ready room.  You have the bridge, Commander.”

“Captain—” Anya halted wearily, realizing a private moment was too much to hope for.  Indra had an odd look on her face.  “Sir, Gaia came to the bridge looking for you.  She’s waiting in your ready room.”

Anya swung around, bewildered.  “ _Gaia_?  On the _bridge_?”

“I told her you were occupied with urgent matters, but she said it couldn’t wait.”

Eyebrows raised, Anya crossed to her office just off the bridge.  The day kept getting stranger and stranger.  Gaia was the proprietress of Ten Forward, the ship’s mess hall and canteen.  Though her antecedents and heritage were shrouded in mystery, she and Anya had developed a mutual respect and understanding during Anya’s years at the helm.  Anya valued her judgment and her counsel.  But never before had she violated ship’s protocol in such a blatant fashion.  For her to intrude onto the bridge indicated that the matter must be serious indeed.

Gaia was gazing out the window at the temporal anomaly when Anya walked in.  Her hands were tucked into the sleeves of her long, flowing robe.  She turned to face the Captain, and Anya’s assessment of the severity of the situation ratcheted up a degree at the consternation in Gaia’s normally placid demeanor.  Anya wondered, not for the first time, about Gaia’s clan.  The dark-skinned woman had simply assumed the running of Ten Forward with little fanfare, and no one had thought to question her authority.  Her easy smile and bearing suggested youthfulness, yet on more than one occasion, Anya had caught notes of sorrow, anguish, even despair, in the depths of her eyes that hinted at a much older soul.   

Much as Anya wanted to simply ask what the hell this was all about, she managed to cling to a shred of tact.  “Gaia?  Commander Hawthorn said you had something urgent to discuss.”

“Captain, this is wrong.  This is not how things are supposed to be,” Gaia said flatly.

Anya frowned in confusion.  “What do you mean?”

Gaia turned and stepped closer to the Captain.  “ _This_.  This ship.  Us.  The crew, our mission.”  She pointed out the window toward the anomaly and the _Arkadia._   “Ever since that other ship arrived, things have been…different.  Changed.”

“How so?”

Gaia made a frustrated gesture.  “I can’t give you specifics, Captain.  It’s just a… _feeling_.  This isn’t right.”

Anya sat down behind her desk in weary exasperation.  “Gaia, you’ve got to give me more to go on than just a ‘feeling.’”

Gaia sighed.  “It’s not just a single thing, it’s the _totality_.  Ten Forward is supposed to be a…a social lounge, not a canteen.  The bridge, the corridors, the very atmosphere of the ship is cold.  Stark.  Utilitarian.  It should be _warm_.  Inviting.”

“It’s wartime, we don’t exactly have the resources to spare on ambiance,” Anya said dryly.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”  She crossed the room to the oversized, backlit campaign map that plotted Starfleet and Azgeda positions and studied it sadly.  “The _Polis_ is supposed to be a ship of exploration.  We’re not supposed to _be_ at war.  That ship _must_ return to its own time.”

Anya shook her head firmly.  “No.  Absolutely not.  I can’t ask those men and women to go to their almost certain deaths based solely on your intuition.  Even if I was inclined to agree with you, I’d still need proof before making a call of that magnitude.”

Gaia shrugged helplessly.  “And I don’t have any proof to give you.  But we’ve known each other a long time, Captain, and I think you know I’d never question your judgment on a matter this serious if I wasn’t certain.”  Anya got up and began to pace restlessly across the small space.  “You feel it, too, don’t you?” Gaia said softly.  “You know as well as I do that that ship’s presence has rewritten our timeline, the timeline we _should_ be living.” 

Anya looked tired.  “Maybe so.  But who’s to say that that reality is any better than this one?  Who’s to say that a single ship could have any discernible impact on our fate?  From what Captain Kane told me, it would be a suicide mission.  If they go back, they’ll all be dead in ten minutes.  How could those ten minutes—and _deaths_ of every single person on that ship—be anything more than an exercise in futility?”

Gaia was adamant.  “Captain, billions of people have died over the last two decades in a war that isn’t even supposed to be happening.  You know what needs to happen.  Trust your instincts—and mine.  That ship has got to go back.”    


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and her crew try to adjust to their radically changed circumstances. Repairs to the _Arkadia_ continue, but it's so hard to focus when your secret crush is on duty on the other side of the Bridge....

_Seventeen years into the future_.  Clarke went about her duties by rote, compiling a list of the _Arkadia’s_ medical supplies and making note of which medicines needed restocking immediately and which they could likely make do without, but those five, matter-of-fact words echoed repeatedly in her brain.  Captain Hunter’s pronouncement had been shocking at the time—incomprehensible, really—but last night Clarke had been too overwhelmed by physical and emotional exhaustion to fully process the implications of it.  She’d woken from a fitful sleep in the early morning hours, convinced the whole episode—the attack, Wells’ death, the time jump—was a terrible, fantastical dream.  Convinced, at least, until she took in the _Polis’s_ unfamiliar surroundings and awareness kicked in, along with a resurgence of grief and pain. 

A hypospray eased her physical aches, but offered no relief for her mental turmoil.  If anything, the absence of physical pain left her mind free to churn away at unwelcome thoughts.  All of her friends and colleagues—those not on the _Arkadia_ , at least—gone, perhaps dead, in the long years that, for her, had passed in the blink of an eye.  And family….Best not to think about family, not yet.  She’d left things badly with her mother the last time they’d spoken.  _And now she thinks I’ve been dead for seventeen years_.  _If she’s even still alive herself_.   

Clarke tried to drive the errant thoughts firmly from her mind and concentrate on her work, but to little avail.  On Captain Kane’s order, the first officer, Lieutenant Commander Blake, had informed the _Arkadia’s_ surviving crew of their situation.  It was, understandably, the talk of the ship.  Clarke had spent the better part of the morning overhearing her technicians’ and nurses’ gossip and speculation about family and friends’ whereabouts and circumstances.  All at once it became too much.  Clarke grabbed the padd with her tally of supplies and bolted out of sickbay.

She headed for the bridge.  Her accounting was still incomplete, but she reasoned that she might as well provide an update of their most critical needs to Lieutenant Woods, who was overseeing the _Arkadia’s_ repairs and acting as the _Polis’s_ liaison.  Clarke pretended that she didn’t feel a flutter of anticipation at seeing the Lieutenant— _Lexa_ —again, but she smoothed her palms down the sides of her new uniform to adjust its lines as she walked.  As Lexa had warned, she’d had to go with the current style.  The blue-and-black pattern was certainly more flattering to her curves and her complexion, but the jumpsuit style and its rear fastening took some getting used to.  She suddenly envisioned dexterous fingers easing the closure apart, the brush of warm lips at her nape, slowly drifting lower….

Lost in the pleasant daydream, Clarke rounded a corner and nearly collided with an engineering technician.  She excused herself, face flaming with private embarrassment, and resolved that such inappropriate thoughts were strictly off-limits.  _You don’t even know the woman.  You’re just fixating on her because you feel unsettled and she brought you some peace last night_.  Those few moments with Lexa the previous evening were the only time she’d felt she had her feet under her since this whole sorry mess began.  So then why did the prospect of interacting with Lexa again threaten to discombobulate her?  She shook the feeling off impatiently.  There was far too much at stake to get distracted by a pair of vibrant green eyes.

Clarke walked onto the bridge to find the green eyes in question narrowed in irritation at Lieutenant Commander Bellamy Blake’s back.  He was studying figures on the console in front of him and seemed to be deliberately ignoring Lexa.  Clarke wondered what exactly she’d blundered into.  Rather than insert herself in the tense scene by going up to Lexa to present her report, she instead detoured to the front bridge stations.  Petty Officer John Murphy was at the helm recalibrating the navigation sensors.  He looked a little worse for wear.  His hair was spiky where it had been trimmed to deal with his head injuries, and he sported a black eye and abrasions to his face.  At the other station, Ensign Emori Larch was running diagnostics on the communication array.  Clarke frowned to see her at her post in spite of the bulky white bandage that swathed her left hand. 

“Ensign, have you been cleared for duty?” she asked.

Emori looked guilty.  “Yes?”  She backpedaled under Clarke’s stern gaze.  “Not completely.  But sir, it’s just the skin grafts, and Dr. Douglas said that could take a few weeks to heal.  I can handle my duties with one hand.  I’d rather be useful than just sit around in sickbay.”

“And if we get attacked?  You know the Kongeda is at war.  How will you manage one handed in a crisis?”  Emori’s face burned at the scolding, but she didn’t back down.  Clarke relented.  She could certainly understand the need to stay occupied, especially now.  “All right, Ensign.  But light duty,” Clarke emphasized.  “Nothing that will damage the grafts or jeopardize you regaining full use of your hand.” 

Emori nodded vigorously.  Clarke cast her eye back to the ongoing spat.  “What’s all this about?” she asked Murphy.

The Petty Officer glanced back over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.  “It’s been like this all morning.  You know Blake, always thinks he has to call the shots,” he drawled.  “Can’t stand someone else telling him how to manage _his ship_.  Especially a girl.”  Catching Clarke’s gimlet eye, he hastily rephrased.  “I mean woman.  Sir.”

Clarke sighed.  Unfortunately, she saw all too well.  Bellamy Blake could be fiercely territorial when it came to his ship and his people.  At times his doggedness had served the _Arkadia_ well, but in other instances, it got in the way of the mission and kept him from seeing the bigger picture.  Captain Kane’s leadership and example had tempered some of those tendencies, but with Kane still in sickbay and the _Arkadia_ in completely uncharted waters, it seemed that Commander Blake had reverted to some of his bullheaded habits. 

The standoff suddenly flared up.  Bellamy keyed in a final command and turned back to Lexa with a self-satisfied air.  “Shields are back up to eighty percent.  I think that should be sufficient.  Once your engineer gets the warp drive fixed, we can be on our way, ahead of schedule.”

Lexa stared at him as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  “Commander,” she said, a slight edge of scorn in her voice, “shields are struggling to hold above seventy-five percent, and even a glancing hit will probably knock them out again unless we stabilize the deflector modulators and auxiliary couplings.  Not to mention that the photon banks are depleted and the phaser emitters are only at forty percent functionality.  If we run into Azgeda fighters, this ship won’t stand a chance.”

Bellamy dismissed her concerns with an insistent shake of his shaggy head.  “With the _Polis_ escorting us, I’m sure it won’t be a problem.  It’ll take too long to get all our weapons systems up to full capacity.  We need to get the _Arkadia_ to Starbase 214 and out of harm’s way as quickly as possible.”

Steel crept into Lexa’s voice and she stood taller.  “With respect, _sir_ , our first priority needs to be ensuring that the _Arkadia’s_ defenses are fully operational so that she has a prayer of withstanding an enemy attack.  Have you ever fought Azgeda?  Seen how they operate?”  Lexa’s eyes bored into Blake, not letting him look away.  “I have, many times.  They’re crafty.  Relentless.  They sniff out weaknesses and exploit them without mercy.  Once they work out that the _Arkadia_ is outdated and wounded and under the _Polis’s_ protection, they won’t hesitate to use that to their advantage and draw us into a fight that could result in the destruction of both our ships.” 

“All the more reason we shouldn’t waste time on time-consuming repairs.  We need to get out of here before we’re detected,” Bellamy shot back, clearly annoyed at having his judgment challenged.    

Lexa called up a schematic on her screen and tried a final time.  “Commander, I’ve identified a workaround for the phaser emitters—”

“Enough!”  Bellamy said loudly.  “We don’t have time for this.  Ensign Larch, notify Captain Hunter that the _Arkadia_ will be ready for departure as soon as the warp drive is restored.”

Lexa dropped her veneer of civility and stepped deliberately into Bellamy’s space.  Her chin jutted upward and her eyes glittered dangerously.  Though much smaller than him, she projected an air of contained ferocity that made Bellamy stumble backwards.  Her voice rang with authority.  “Belay that order, Ensign.  This ship isn’t going anywhere until I’ve cleared it.”  To Blake, “You may outrank me, but I’m in charge here.”

Bellamy floundered speechlessly for a moment before he regained his bluster.  “We’ll see about that,” he huffed.  He slapped his comm badge a little harder than necessary and bit off his words.  “Blake to _Polis_ , one to beam aboard.”  His energy shimmered in the transporter beam and disappeared.

“Looks like somebody’s off to tattle to Daddy,” Murphy muttered under his breath.  He clamped his mouth shut under the weight of Lexa’s glare. 

“Would anyone else care to question my decisions?”  Lexa’s sharp eyes roved around the room, finally landing on Clarke.  “Then let’s see about getting those phasers back online,” she said, lightening the mood.

Clarke gulped when she realized Lexa was headed her way.  She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Lexa’s borderline cocky strut, the sway of her trim hips with each approaching step, the tiny smirk hiding in her eyes and the corner of her lips.  Clarke’s new uniform suddenly seemed uncomfortably warm and constricting, and she adjusted the collar.  Lexa still radiated the aura of command as she drew near, and Clarke imagined her edging just a little too close, crowding Clarke backwards, perhaps bending her over a console, and then—

“Something I can help you with, Doctor?” It would have been a perfectly innocent question, but for Lexa’s amused grin, as if she knew perfectly well the effect her presence was having on Clarke.

“No!  I mean yes!”  Clarke blurted.  She cleared her throat and reminded herself to be cool and professional.  “I have the list of medical stores the _Arkadia_ will need.  It’s not complete, but I’ve tried to prioritize the most critical items.”  She handed the padd to Lexa, taking care not to let their fingers brush.  She smiled at the ~~adorable~~ ~~cute~~ thoughtful furrow in Lexa’s brow as she read over the list.  Without thinking, she said, “That was impressive.”

Lexa’s gaze shot up to Clarke’s face, which pinked a little under the scrutiny.  “What was?”

“How you handled Commander Blake.”  She drew Lexa a few paces away from the front bridge stations and lowered her voice.  “Although you embarrassed him.  He won’t forget it.” 

Lexa pressed her lips together in annoyance.  “He refused to listen to reason.  Any _fool_ could see…”

Clarke smiled again and let her talk.  She enjoyed the heightened color in Lexa’s cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes as she presented an impassioned defense of her actions and rationale.  Clarke finally laid a hand on Lexa’s forearm.  The light pressure silenced Lexa instantly.  “You’re not wrong about the phasers and the rest of it.  But maybe ease up on Bellamy.  He’s anxious about his sister.  She was a third-year cadet when we…disappeared, I guess.  She’s everything to him.  It’s been seventeen years for you, but to us…we just saw our families a few weeks ago.  Most of us,” she qualified.  “That’s why he’s in such a rush to get to a starbase, to see what’s happened to her, if she’s still alive….”  Her voice trailed off as she considered the possibilities.

Lexa’s eyes darted away from Clarke.  She carefully disengaged her arm from Clarke’s grasp and turned toward one of the consoles.  She set Clarke’s padd aside and keyed a command into the workstation.  “You care about him.”

“I care about all of them.”

“But you worry about him more.” 

Clarke picked up on Lexa’s flat affect even though her back was turned.  Was she…?  She couldn’t be _jealous_ —could she?  Clarke stifled a grin and pursued Lexa to the terminal.  She braced a hip against the edge of the console and crossed her arms, her shoulder just grazing Lexa’s.  Lexa startled at the contact and looked at Clarke with troubled eyes.  “I worry about him because he’s arguably—” she quirked an ironic eyebrow at Lexa “—in acting command of the ship until Captain Kane recovers.  We need him to lead, but if he’s compromised, I have a duty to the ship and the crew to act.  That’s all,” she said, holding Lexa’s gaze for emphasis. 

Lexa’s face cleared.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Clarke hadn’t realized just how close she was standing until now.  Her eyes drifted lower, lodging on the tiny dent in Lexa’s full bottom lip.  It trembled, as if Lexa was just about to say something—

“Ensign, have we received any status updates on the water filtration system?” Murphy wondered loudly.  “There seems to be a powerful thirst on board.”  Emori giggled next to him.

Clarke and Lexa each bolted upright and jumped apart.  Lexa nodded gravely, her ears tinged red.  “Thank you for the report, Doctor.  I’ll pass it along to Captain Hunter.” 

Clarke was equally red faced.  “Right!  You’re welcome.  I’ll, uh, be in sickbay if you need me.”  She fled the bridge, Murphy’s snickers ringing in her ears and an impossibly sexy young lieutenant clouding her thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa drift closer together over dinner, and Clarke learns just how much the present day differs from her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone even reading this? Because man, it’s just crickets....

Lexa walked into Ten Forward for her meal break.  She’d planned to just grab something in the mess hall and go, but a flash of blonde near the counter drew her attention.  She sauntered slowly up to the bar, using the time to steal a long glimpse of Clarke.  Her hair rippled past her shoulders, still held back with two tiny, delicate braids twisted together in the back.  Lexa’s gaze drifted down Clarke’s back, admiring the gentle cling of her new uniform over the flare of her hips.  She idly wondered whether those curves would feel as soft as they looked, then sternly admonished herself for objectifying a colleague in such a fashion.  It was hard to stop looking, though. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” she said lightly, halting just behind Clarke.  Clarke whipped around much more quickly than Lexa had anticipated, and she hastily yanked her wayward glance upward to a more appropriate level.  Clarke’s eyes narrowed shrewdly.  Lexa felt her cheeks heat at getting caught looking, but she didn’t look away.

“Lexa, hi!  Yeah, I heard this was the place to come for a real meal,” Clarke said brightly.  Her reply seemed a little too pat, and Lexa grinned as the penny dropped.

“You couldn’t program the replicator, could you?” 

It was Clarke’s turn to redden with embarrassment.  “Shut up,” she grumbled, trying not to smile.  “I figured out how to produce clothing.”

Lexa hummed as she eyed her up and down.  “I can see that.”  She steadfastly refused to think about what, if anything, Clarke might have devised to wear _under_ the uniform.  _Oh, don’t go there._ Her grin widened at Clarke’s apparent fluster.  “And here I thought you were a scientist,” she teased.

Clarke’s smile finally broke free.  “Ok, fine,” she admitted, laughing.  “I would’ve worked it out eventually, but I was too hungry to bother.”  She gestured at the array of menu items listed on the display above the bar.  “So what’s good?”

“You’re in luck, they do a really excellent Trikru stew.”  Clarke scanned the menu for it, but Lexa waved her off.  “Don’t bother, you won’t find it on there.  It’s Gaia’s personal recipe, you have to have an in with her to ask for it.”

“And you do?”

Lexa tried—unsuccessfully—to look modest.  She spotted Gaia and beckoned to her.  Gaia walked toward the counter automatically, but when she realized it was Lexa waving her over, her pace slowed.  Shock flared in her eyes but was quickly masked by a wary guardedness.  “Hi, Gaia,” Lexa said.  “This is Dr. Griffin, from the _Arkadia_.  I told her you make a mean stew.” 

Clarke said hello.  Gaia tipped her chin in a formal greeting without speaking, then gave Lexa a long stare that bordered on uncomfortable.  Lexa shifted on her feet and looked back at her uncertainly.  “Gaia?  Is everything all right?”

“Of course,” Gaia said smoothly, breaking the spell.  “Two specials.  Have a seat and I’ll bring them out when they’re ready.” 

Lexa and Clarke accepted the drinks she slid across the counter.  They made their way to a secluded table by the large window that looked out on the stars.  “You’re from Trikru, then?” Clarke asked, taking a seat opposite Lexa.  Lexa nodded.  “So you come here when you’re looking for some home cooking?  Just like mom used to make?” Clarke joked.

Lexa stiffened for an instant, then forced herself to relax.  _She doesn’t know_.  “Something like that,” she said vaguely.

Clarke sensed that she’d said something wrong from the flicker of sadness in Lexa’s demeanor.  “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly, “I shouldn’t have presumed—”

Lexa brushed aside her apology.  “You have nothing to be sorry for.  A lot has changed in—since you’ve been gone.”  She saw Clarke’s face tighten as the awareness washed over her once more, and she quickly changed the subject.  “Tell me, Dr. Griffin—”

“Clarke.  My friends call me Clarke.”

“ _Clarke_ ,”  Lexa felt a warm pull in her chest as the sound rolled off her tongue.  She was more pleased than she cared to admit at the familiarity.  From the dusting of pink across Clarke’s cheeks, she wasn’t the only one.  She quickly flailed for her original train of thought.  “What made you decide to become a doctor?”

Clarke laughed, without much humor, Lexa thought.  “If you know— _knew_ —my mother,” Clarke corrected herself with a hard swallow, “you’d know there was never really any question of my doing anything else.  She’s a brilliant surgeon—or was.  I don’t even know whether she’s alive, after all this time,” she mused to herself.

“I’m sorry, Clarke—”

“No, it’s ok.  It’s…I’m still getting my head around it all.”  Clarke managed a smile.  “Anyway, I was always expected to follow in the family footsteps.  And don’t get me wrong—I do _like_ medicine, I like to think I’m good at it—but becoming a doctor was never really a true _choice_.”

The resignation and faint tinge of bitterness in Clarke’s tone struck a chord with Lexa.  She was well-acquainted with the weight of expectations not her own.  “All right.  But then what made you decide to become a _Starfleet_ doctor?”

“Now that’s the real question.”  Clarke took a sip of her drink and leaned back in her seat as she mulled over her reply.  Her words came a little hesitantly at first, and Lexa got the impression that Clarke didn’t share her private self often or easily.  “I suppose part of it was just teenage rebellion,” she said with a small rueful smile.  “I knew it would piss my mom off, and oh, _did_ it.  She was furious when I applied to the Academy.  She couldn’t complain _too_ much—the instruction was top-notch, and it was free, after all.  I think she thought I’d come to my senses once I’d fulfilled my service obligation.  She had a fit when I told her I’d reupped my contract, said I was wasting my talent...we had a huge fight about it.”  Her eyes grew unfocused, and her voice faded in recollection before she snapped out of her reverie.  “Anyway, that’s not important.  I decided that if I had to be a doctor, I’d at least do it on my own terms.”  The determined set of her jaw was apparent even now, and Lexa didn’t credit anyone’s chances who got in between Clarke and her goal. 

Clarke took another sip of her drink.  She looked out the bulkhead window, seemingly lost in thought.  Lexa assumed she’d said her piece, but then she spoke again, in a more contemplative voice this time.  “It was more than that, though.”  When her gaze swung back to Lexa, this time her eyes were bright with a blue glow that had been absent before.  “When I was a kid, I loved to lie outside in the dark and look up at the night sky.  I’d stay out so long the dew from the grass would soak through my jeans and my butt would go numb from the cold and wet.”  Lexa smiled at the image of a tiny blonde scrap of a girl gazing upward, eyes wide, spellbound.  Clarke smiled with her.  “I didn’t care.  I loved that feeling of vastness…endless possibility.  Knowing that all of those little pinpricks of light that I could barely make out were whole other worlds with people and animals and creatures and _stories_ …and that someday, it might be _me_ up there…out _here_ ….”  She shrugged, self-conscious at having revealed so much.  “Mom would’ve never understood _that_.”

Lexa felt a wistful, almost envious, ache at Clarke’s words.  What might it be like to look to the heavens and see wonder and possibility, rather than threat and danger?  To serve a Starfleet motivated by curiosity and inquiry instead of a version driven by duty, sacrifice, and death?  “I’m surprised you could even see the stars in Washington,” she said without thinking, still pondering the alternatives. 

“Usually you can’t.  I used to spend summers on my grandparents’ farm out in Virginia.”  Clarke considered Lexa sharply.  “But how did you know I grew up in D.C.?  I didn’t tell you that.”

 _Shit_. 

Lexa was temporarily spared fumbling for an answer when Gaia appeared with their orders.  Gaia didn’t take her eyes off Lexa as she set their plates in front of them.  Lexa tried to pay it no mind, but the hairs on the back of her neck prickled under the unexplained scrutiny.  Once Gaia left, they tucked into their stew.  Lexa hoped that the food might distract Clarke from her question, a not unreasonable ploy given her delighted hums as she ate.  Unfortunately for Lexa, watching Clarke savor her meal turned out to be a distraction in itself, and she didn’t have a response ready when Clarke inevitably returned to her line of inquiry.

“You didn’t answer my question.  How did you know I was from D.C.?”  She scooped up another mouthful and waited expectantly. 

 _Busted_.  Lexa looked at her with a guilty expression and put down her fork.  “I might have looked up your service record,” she confessed sheepishly.  “I’m sorry!  I know I invaded your privacy,” she added hastily, unable to read the look on Clarke’s face.  “I wasn’t trying to pry, or be nosy.  I was just…curious.”  She knew she was blushing furiously, and she wondered how Clarke’s opinion of her had come to matter so much.

Clarke finished her stew and carefully laid her napkin aside.  Her face was still a cipher, and Lexa held her breath, anxious at how her admission would be received.  Clarke finally put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, an impudent blue glint in her eyes.  “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Lexa shook her head no.

Clarke’s slow smirk did little to take the edge off Lexa’s apprehension.  “Well, you know a lot about _me_ , and I know nothing about _you_.  That means you have to give me some dirt on yourself.”

Heat crept up Lexa’s collar and she tried to demur.  “There wasn’t any _dirt_ in your file.  I didn’t even read it that closely, I didn’t look at your fitreps or anything!”  Clarke was undeterred.  From the look on her face, she was enjoying watching Lexa squirm—and Lexa tried to ignore how deliciously wicked it felt to squirm for Clarke—but she finally relented a little. 

“Ok, not dirt then.  But it’s only fair that you tell me about yourself.  Spill.”

Lexa pretended to huff.  She’d learned to keep her private thoughts and emotions closed off for good reason, and yet a few fleeting moments with the pretty doctor had her ready—no, _eager_ —to let those walls down.  If she was being honest, she _wanted_ to let Clarke in.  And she was secretly gratified that Clarke was curious about her, too.  She still played it cool, though.

“There’s really not much to tell.”  Lexa shrugged broadly.  “I’m Trikru, I’m 26…”  She plucked at her red sleeve.  “I’m actually command track, not security, but I’m being fast-tracked for promotion.  I requested this assignment so I could gain experience.”

That took Clarke aback.  “At that rate, you’ll make captain in…”

Lexa completed the thought.  “Five or six years, yes.”  _If I survive that long_. 

Clarke frowned.  “Isn’t that awfully young to command your own ship?”

Lexa’s small smile was both sad and grim.  “Starfleet needs combat leaders.  Many of our ship captains are young.  Our commanders don’t tend to live long.”  She saw the shocked understanding register on Clarke’s face, and again she wondered just how different Clarke’s reality had been.  What might it be like to not have the specter of death and loss as a constant companion?

“Ok,” Clarke said slowly.  “But that’s your job.  Tell me about _you_.  Why did _you_ join Starfleet?” 

Lexa fidgeted with her almost empty glass.  “It’s complicated,” she evaded.

Clarke said skeptically, “More complicated than traveling seventeen years through time complicated?” 

Lexa acknowledged the point with a brief twist of her lips.  She took a deep breath.  Her words were thick at first; she hadn’t talked about it with anyone in years, not even Costia.  There was really no need, it was common knowledge what had happened on Trikru, and besides, almost everyone in the Kongeda had a similar tale.  “You know I’m from Trikru.  What you probably _don’t_ know is that the Trikru you knew doesn’t exist anymore.  Azgeda attacked my world many years ago and destroyed most of our major cities and settlements.  There’s still a few outposts left, but the planet was so ravaged by war and famine that most Trikru were forced to abandon our homeworld.”

Lexa’s matter-of-fact recounting couldn’t completely obscure the pain of the tale.  Clarke’s hand went to her mouth in horror as Lexa went on.  “You might notice a high concentration of Trikru on the _Polis_ —that’s the Captain’s doing.  She’s trying to help us maintain some of our identity and bonds with our people, even though many of us are now refugees, scattered throughout the quadrant.  That’s actually how I came to be in Starfleet—because of Anya.  Captain Hunter.”  She braced herself for the rest of it.  “Azgeda hit our settlement when I was twelve.  My parents and younger brother were killed.  I was one of the only survivors.”  Her face clouded, recalling the echo of screams and the stench of charred flesh and the coppery tang of blood.

Clarke made a small noise and reached across the table convulsively, as if to silence her.  “Lexa, I’m so sorry.  I never meant to bring up painful memories.”  Her hand found Lexa’s and squeezed tenderly.  Clarke’s touch brought Lexa back to herself.  She glanced at Clarke’s face, fearful of what she might see, but instead of the pity she dreaded, there was only deep sorrow and perhaps regret.  “I shouldn’t have pushed.  You don’t have to tell me any more,” Clarke said quietly. 

Lexa shook her head.  “It’s all right, Clarke.”  She was surprised to find that it was true.  The old memories still hurt, but sharing them with Clarke somehow made the burden feel less heavy.  She _wanted_ to tell her.  She turned her hand over so that Clarke’s palm rested upon her own and their fingers gently played against each other’s skin.  The warmth of the touch comforted her, and she continued her story.  “Captain Hunter—she was a lieutenant herself then—was a member of the Kongeda rescue party that found me.  She’d lost her younger sister, and I guess I reminded her of her.  She kept an eye on me over the years, didn’t let me get lost in the refugee system the way so many kids do.”  She grinned at a particular memory. 

“What’s funny about that?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about the time I broke Quint’s arm.”

Clarke ran her eyes over Lexa’s slender frame and raised an eyebrow.  “You broke someone’s arm.  I find that hard to believe.”

“You’ve never seen me fight, Clarke,” Lexa said with mild reproach.  “But yes.  I used to get in fights all the time when I was a teenager.  I was small, and angry, and kind of mouthy—” she made a face at Clarke’s snicker “—and that was a bad combination in the group homes.  One of the older boys, Quint, was a particular bully.  The other kids had learned to keep out of his way, but I was too obstinate, or hotheaded, or I don’t know what, to back down.  He started making a special example out of me, and I ended up getting a lot of beat downs.  The Captain found out about it, and when she came to Earth on leave, she came and got me.  Spent half her leave teaching me to fight.  She didn’t pull her punches, either,” Lexa said ruefully.  “Kept knocking me down until I got over my stubbornness and _listened_ , and learned how to fight and how to fight smart.  The next time Quint tried to use me as a punching bag, I made him pay.  I didn’t have to fight much after that.”

Clarke laughed at her air of smug satisfaction.  Lexa soon joined in, and they sat smiling at each other, hands still entwined atop the table.  The comfortable moment was shortlived, though.  Gaia appeared to collect their empty plates, and they quickly jerked their hands apart.  Once again, Lexa felt Gaia’s eyes on her.  The sensation was unnerving.  After she walked away, Lexa said, “Would you mind if we got out of here?  Gaia’s been giving me strange looks ever since I came in, and it’s starting to creep me out.”

Clarke agreed and got to her feet.  “I wondered about that, but you said she was a friend.”

“She is, that’s why it’s so odd.  I’ll talk to her later and see what’s going on.”  She and Clarke left Ten Forward and walked into the corridor.  “I have to go back on duty in a little while, but I could walk you to your quarters,” Lexa said hopefully.  They were standing a little closer than shipmates usually would, and Lexa could smell the subtle fragrance of Clarke’s hair.  She narrowly stopped herself from closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath of it. 

“Lead the way,” Clarke said easily.  She slipped her hand back into Lexa’s and clasped their fingers together once more.  “You never finished your story.  About Captain Hunter and Starfleet?” she prompted.

Lexa was hard pressed to put words together with Clarke’s thumb gently tracing the side of her hand.  Her senses buzzed from the soft sway of Clarke’s body against hers as they walked.  “What?  Oh!  She’s the one who encouraged me to go to the Academy.  I had the aptitude, and it was a foregone conclusion I’d go into Starfleet, anyway.  Kids like me don’t have many options, and Starfleet needs soldiers.”  Lexa said it matter-of-factly, but her heart surged at the way Clarke’s hand tightened protectively at her words.  “The Captain was on the fast track herself.  She had the connections and enough clout to grease the wheels and help me get a slot at the Academy instead of just enlisting.”

Their steps slowed as they drew up in front of Clarke’s quarters and Clarke turned to face Lexa.  They were standing closer than ever, neither of them inclined to break contact, their hands still linked and fingers sliding ever-so-slightly.  Clarke reached up with her free hand to pluck a nearly invisible fleck of lint off Lexa’s chest.  Lexa shivered at the barely-there touch, the intimate familiarity of it.  Her nerves escalated at Clarke’s closeness, her uneven breaths ghosting across Lexa’s cheek, the strong, rapid beat of her pulse at her throat, the gentle press of their bodies.  It was difficult to form words through her suddenly dry mouth, but Lexa said shyly, “You’re not mad, then?  That I read your file?” 

Clarke chuckled softly.  “No.  I might have tried to look you up, too, if I could’ve worked the computer.”

Lexa laughed with her until Clarke’s eyes met hers in a shine of dark hunger that Lexa was sure mirrored her own.  She swallowed and took the leap, leaning in until her lips just grazed Clarke’s cheek.  Her hot breath swirled around Clarke’s ear as she murmured, “Would you like me to come in and show you how to use the replicator?”  The rush of blood in Lexa’s ears almost drowned out Clarke’s faintly whispered “yes,” but there was no mistaking the way Clarke’s free hand rose to cradle Lexa’s cheek, or the subtle shift of her mouth toward Lexa’s.  Lexa’s eyes fluttered shut and her nose bumped lightly against Clarke’s as their lips met in a soft, sweet kiss.  It was just a gentle brush to start, but it seemed to steal all the air from Lexa’s chest.  She groaned at the little dig of Clarke’s fingers as they slid into her hair and she pressed forward to deepen the kiss—

“Bridge to Lieutenant Woods.”

Lexa ripped her mouth away from Clarke’s with a gasp and braced a hand against the door to Clarke’s quarters until she regained her equilibrium.  She answered Indra’s hail in a ragged voice.  “Woods here.”

“Captain Hunter would like an update on the _Arkadia’s_ repairs.  Please report to the Captain’s Ready Room.”

“Aye, sir.”  Lexa tipped her forehead to rest briefly against Clarke’s.  “Duty calls,” she said.  She  pulled away with a regretful sigh, wondering if the kiss had affected Clarke as deeply as it had her.

The delicate caress of Clarke’s hand down her cheek and the tender kiss Clarke pressed to her forehead were answer enough.  “Another time,” she said, her own voice huskier than usual.  A statement, not a question.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up between Clarke and Lexa. Meanwhile, Captain Kane has some choices to make regarding the _Arkadia's_ future.

Captain Kane sat on the side of his bed undergoing what he hoped would be a final examination by Dr. Douglas.  He fidgeted with the sling the doctor had insisted on to immobilize his arm until it finished healing.  Normally he would have put up more protest—not that it would have gotten him anywhere with Dr. Griffin, either—but he was anxious to return to duty and willing to humor the Doctor’s instructions if that was what it took to earn clearance.  He dutifully allowed the Doctor to run scans on his abdomen and manipulate his other arm to evaluate his progress.  Nyko was finishing up when Captain Hunter entered sickbay and walked over to speak with Kane.   

“You’ve recovered nicely from the surgery, Captain.  Your arm will take another day or two, but I can clear you for duty now.  Give me a few moments to complete the forms,” Nyko said.  He greeted his own Captain, but then tactfully moved away so the two commanders could confer in private.

“Good news, I hope?” Anya inquired.

“Yes, Dr. Douglas says I’m fit for duty.  I’d like to beam over to the _Arkadia_ as soon as he releases me.  I’m sure she’s been in good hands, but I need to see for myself, especially after the secondhand reports I’ve received.”

Anya started to bristle.  “If you’re referring to Lieutenant Commander Blake’s complaint, I can assure you that Lieutenant Woods—”

Marcus soothed her ruffled feathers.  “I have no issue with your officer.  We are unfamiliar with the tactical scenario in this time and with Azgeda in particular.  Deferring to your officer’s assessment of the situation would have been the prudent course of action.  Blake is a good officer, but he can be…impulsive,” he said with a wan smile, reluctant to be too critical of his own officers to a fellow captain.  “But I’m sure you can appreciate how frustrating it is to have others making decisions for your ship and your crew while you’re incapacitated.”

“Agreed.  You’ve borne it far more gracefully than I would have,” Anya admitted wryly.  “My people tell me the repairs are progressing on schedule.  We haven’t received orders from Starfleet Command yet, but the _Arkadia_ should be ready for departure within twenty-four hours.”  She stopped herself from continuing her thought, but Marcus picked up on her reticence.

“What aren’t you telling me, Captain?”

Anya sighed.  “You’re a captain, you’ll see the intelligence reports yourself soon enough.”  She glanced around sickbay to ensure no one was listening and lowered her voice.  “It’s been kept quiet, but the war has been going badly for a while.  The Kongeda is losing.  It’s only a matter of time.  According to Starfleet Command’s own projections, we may not last another six months.”

Kane released a silent whistle as he digested the news.  “I see.”  He sighed and shook his head.  “Or, rather, I _don’t_.  I can’t imagine the Kongeda I know at war, much less _this_.  But what does this have to do with the _Arkadia_?”

Anya deliberated with herself before she answered.  “Understand that I have no basis for this but intuition, but….”  She squared her shoulders and looked Kane in the eye.  “My gut tells me that the _Arkadia_ needs to return to her own time.”

Kane didn’t react outwardly to her statement, but he held her gaze steadily.  “After what I told you of our battle with the Maunon, you know what you’re asking.”

Anya’s response was testy.  “I’m _not_ asking that; I don’t have any right to ask that of you.”  The heat ebbed from her words and she turned aside, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers in a futile effort to ease her ever-present stress headache.  “Without further analysis, we can’t even be sure a return is possible.  And we’re still waiting for direction from Starfleet Command.  With how thin our resources are these days, Starfleet needs every ship she can get in the fight, even one as outdated as the _Arkadia_.”

“And yet you’d still have us go back?  If we could?”

Anya dropped her hand back to her side.  There was regret in her eyes, but she was undeterred.  “Frankly, one more ship is a drop in the bucket.  The _Arkadia_ won’t be enough to shift the balance of the war in the here and now.  And there’s a good chance that you’ll be killed—that we all will, Starfleet’s losses have been staggering.”  She paused to let that sink in, then continued with meaningful weight to her words.  “But seventeen years ago, one ship—and yes, maybe even your deaths—might have made all the difference in stopping this war before it ever started.”                           

Kane stroked his beard pensively.  When he finally spoke, his voice was somber.  “I can’t give you an answer now, Captain.  I need some time to think and to consider the wishes of my crew.  In the meantime, I’d like to inspect my ship.”

“Of course.  Dr. Douglas will see to it that you have an appropriate uniform,” Anya said.  She turned to take her leave, adding, “My security chief isn’t on duty yet, but I’ll have her report to you.” 

“Excuse me, Captain, but that’s Lieutenant Woods isn’t it?”  Anya’s head snapped around at the unfamiliar voice to find Doctor Griffin standing at the next bed with a patient chart in her hand.  Clarke’s words tumbled out faster as she tried to dig herself out of her self-inflicted hole.  “I’m sorry, I happened to overhear the end of your conversation, and I was planning to meet Lexa—Lieutenant Woods!—for breakfast.  I could give her the message if you like.  Sir.”

Anya’s penetrating stare seemed to cut right through Clarke, but instead of dressing Clarke down for interrupting, she simply gave a terse nod.  “Very well.  Tell her to meet Captain Kane in transporter room four at 0900.”  She directed an abrupt farewell to Kane and departed. 

Clarke keyed a few more patient notes into her padd and handed it off to a medical technician before making her own way out of sickbay.  She knew it was bad protocol to interrupt senior officers’ conversations, and she really _hadn’t_ meant to stick her nose in, but her mouth seemingly had a mind of its own where the lieutenant was concerned.  Under normal circumstances, Clarke would have been appalled by her own sheer brazenness in lying to her superiors (for she _didn’t_ actually have plans with Lexa, although she had hoped…), but nothing about these circumstances was remotely “normal.”  She’d lain awake half the night, replaying the kiss in her mind and imagining what might have happened if Lexa hadn’t been called away.  Finally, hopelessly worked up, she’d given up on real sleep as a lost cause and ventured to sickbay in the early morning hours to monitor the few remaining _Arkadia_ patients.

“Computer, where is Lieutenant Lexa Woods?” 

“Lieutenant Woods is in holodeck two.”

Clarke followed the computer’s directions through the _Polis’s_ maze of corridors, but her mind was far away.  She truly hadn’t been snooping on the captains’ conversation in sickbay, but it was hard not to pick up bits and pieces when her own patient was in the next bed.  She’d only caught the tail end of their exchange, but it was enough to set her thoughts spinning.  From what little she’d seen in the last forty-eight hours, there was much to be said for the future.  The technological developments of the past two decades alone were mindboggling: replicators, communicators, medical innovations that had saved the lives of a number of her own crew.  She couldn’t begin to guess at what a Starbase—or Earth—might have in store.  Her own time, meanwhile—whether it was her present or their past she could no longer parse—offered little more than certain destruction.  Clarke could scarcely believe that Captain Kane would even consider taking the _Arkadia_ back through the rift to their deaths. 

And yet.  The manner of their salvation troubled her.  Clarke was no soldier; she didn’t relish risking her ship and her comrades’ lives in battle.  But running out on a fight didn’t sit well with her, especially when it felt like they’d abandoned their duty to the innocent people left behind in harms’ way.  And what promise did this brave new future hold for them, anyway?  The passage of so much time had shattered families and personal ties, in many cases, irreparably.  It seemed like much of what had made life worth surviving for had evaporated in those seventeen years.  Aside from the seductive lure of technology’s bells and whistles, much of the future (the present?) seemed bleak and hollow: a Starfleet given over to violence and vengeance, billions dead, worlds ravaged, a generation’s youthful potential ground up and wasted in the churning maw of war.  This future was so far removed from any she could have envisioned as to be unrecognizable. 

But going back would mean leaving Lexa.  Given that the _Arkadia_ would be flying straight into a deadly firefight, it wasn’t like Clarke would have to live with her absence for long, but just the prospect of consciously turning her back and leaving Lexa behind…. _You’ve known her for two days.  Two. Days._   _There’s no way you should feel this strongly about someone you met two days ago._  At first Clarke had tried to convince herself that the pull she felt for Lexa—the itch to spend time with her, to learn her little mannerisms, to be close to her—was just a passing infatuation, that it would dissipate once the _Arkadia_ and the _Polis_ went their separate ways.  Then came Lexa’s display of swagger on the _Arkadia_.  It left Clarke all kinds of shook and telling herself that what she felt was merely physical attraction (ok, _lust_ ), because those green eyes and that little smirk Did Things to her.  But attraction alone didn’t account for the ache that she’d felt last night at Lexa’s pain and her own urge to comfort, even protect, nor did it explain the tentative trust she’d extended and which Lexa had so shyly reciprocated.  And that _kiss_ ….          

It wasn’t rational.  It didn’t make sense.  But then, what part of flying through a time vortex into a potentially-altered future set in a galactic war zone made sense?  Clarke resisted the hysterical urge to laugh.  Maybe her feelings for Lexa were the only thing that _did_ make sense.  They were certainly the only thing in this future that felt _right_ , so much so that Clarke was willing to seize any excuse to steal a few, fleeting moments with her.

Clarke finally reached the holodeck.  She tapped the entry pad and walked through the doors…and stopped short and gaped.  She looked back over her shoulder just in time to see the doorway shimmer and then vanish, leaving her—apparently—standing alone in a heavily wooded forest.  Her head swiveled to and fro in wonder as she took in majestic trees that rose far above her head, the fecund odor of dark, moist earth, and the cool, soothing, green hues of the forest canopy and the sea of ferns and moss on the ground below.  Fallen leaves crunched under her feet as she walked deeper into the forest.  She scraped a hand over jagged tree bark, dug her fingers into the soft earth, and laid her palm on the rough, cold surface of a massive granite boulder, marveling at the range of textures.  It felt so _real,_ and yet logically she knew this kind of forest could never be grown artificially, much less on a starship.  Besides that, she saw blue sky overhead instead of the dark void of deep space.  She’d almost forgotten her purpose in coming until she crested a small rise and spotted a clearing just ahead.

A slim figure clad in black stood in the center of the clearing.  She was poised for battle, a sword held at the ready in each hand.  _Lexa_.  Just as Clarke started to go to her, a sudden flurry of motion erupted behind her.  Before Clarke could call out a warning, half a dozen attackers set upon Lexa from the woodline.  Clarke gasped and raced toward her without thinking, ignoring the branches and thorny brush that tore at her clothing.

The clang and scrape of metal and sharp grunts of exertion met Clarke’s ears when she reached the clearing.  She feared the worst, but to her surprise, Lexa had already dispatched several of her attackers and had the others thrown back on the defensive.  Clarke looked on with her heart in her throat, but her concern quickly gave way to a far different feeling as she watched Lexa whirl and parry in a lethal dance.  Lexa moved gracefully, with precise economy of motion, wielding each sword effortlessly.  Her dark tunic and leggings conformed to the flex of her muscles with each lunge, thrust, and kick.  Her hair was drawn back in a ponytail that whipped around her shoulders as she moved, and Clarke imagined how it might look unbound, those silky strands threading through her fingers, or perhaps tickling across her thighs….              

Clarke didn’t see it coming.  One minute she was daydreaming about sinking her hands into Lexa’s soft mass of curls; the next, she was flat on her back on the ground.  A solid, warm weight pinned her down, cold steel scraped at her throat, and vivid green eyes ablaze with the fever of battle hovered just above her face.  Clarke froze.  She took in the sweat dotting Lexa’s hairline, the smeared trickle of blood down her cheek, and the heave of her chest against Clarke’s with every ragged breath.  Clarke’s own pulse thumped erratically.  She knew the slightest wrong move would result in Lexa’s blade slicing into her neck, but still it took enormous willpower to keep from grinding up into the hips that straddled her own.       

And then Lexa’s fog lifted.  “Clarke,” she gasped, eyes startled wide.  The reverential way she breathed Clarke’s name, the tiny lilt at the end, was Clarke’s undoing.  Lexa cast her blade aside with a muted thunk and would have scrambled to her feet, but Clarke yanked her down and crushed their mouths together.  Clarke swallowed Lexa’s surprised meep.  She wound her fingers in Lexa’s hair and held her close, moaning her approval when Lexa opened her mouth at the insistent swipe of Clarke’s tongue.  Lexa might have been caught off guard at first, but she soon caught on and kissed Clarke back with abandon, sucking on her tongue and licking into her mouth with a heated fervor that robbed Clarke of breath.  Unlike the night before, there was nothing tentative or gentle about this kiss; this was a kiss with raw intent, and Clarke felt her own urgent need reflected in Lexa’s desperate pants and the sloppy clash of their lips and teeth.    

Lexa lowered her body until it was flush with Clarke’s and they both groaned at the soft heaviness of their breasts pressing together through the layers of ~~totally unnecessary~~ clothing.  Clarke squeezed her eyes shut.  Her head thumped against the ground and her mouth fell open in a silent plea at the hot suction of Lexa’s mouth planting a wet trail of kisses over the underside of her jaw and down her neck.  Her breasts ached to be touched and heat was mounting between her thighs.  Clarke’s hands roamed up and down Lexa’s back, scrabbling for the hem of her tunic, impatient to ruck it up to reach the warm, bare skin beneath.  Lexa was eager to comply.  She had just raised up onto her knees to help Clarke peel the garment over her head when the computer chirped.

“Bridge to Lieutenant Woods.”

Lexa’s shoulders sagged.  She paused for a beat to regain her composure, but her voice was still rough when she answered.  “Woods here.”

Captain Hunter sounded annoyed.  “Lieutenant, why aren’t you in the transporter room?  Captain Kane is waiting for you to beam over to the _Arkadia_.  Dr. Griffin should have informed you of my orders.”

Clarke’s eyes widened to saucers.  _Shit_.  She mouthed ‘ _sorry_ ’ at Lexa.

Lexa gallantly fell on her sword for Clarke.  “I’m sorry, sir, I was in a remote section of the holoprogram.  Dr. Griffin probably wasn’t able to find me.  I’m on my way now.”

“Quickly as you can, Lieutenant.  Captain Kane will beam ahead and you can meet him aboard the _Arkadia._   Hunter out.”

Lexa got to her feet and extended a hand to help Clarke up.  Clarke grimaced as she stood.  “That’s why I’m here—I was supposed to tell you to meet Captain Kane.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”  Her eyes raked down Lexa’s form, from her tousled hair to her kiss-swollen lips, down to the sheen of sweat that collected at her clavicle.  She blurted, “I’m really not sorry about the rest of it.”  She blushed.

Lexa shrugged it off.  “I can handle the Captain.  It’s not your fault.  Well, it _is_ ,” she allowed, a sexy smirk hovering on her lips, “but it’s not your fault I’m so distracting.”  She took Clarke’s hand to lead her back through the woods to the holodeck entrance.

Clarke rolled her eyes.  She wanted to scoff at Lexa’s smug assuredness, but all she could think about was the warmth of Lexa’s hand and how it might feel caressing her more intimately, and so she told the truth without thinking.  “You really are.”

Lexa’s eyes darkened again, and for a moment Clarke thought she might push her up against the nearest tree and claim her lips all over again.  “So are you.”  She cast a sidelong glance at Clarke and reddened herself.  “I’m not sorry, either.  I’m only sorry we didn’t get to continue.”

Clarke forced herself to think of something— _anything—_ besides Lexa’s smooth, sleek body,  slick and tangled around her own.  She changed the subject.  “What is this place?” she asked, glancing around at their surroundings.  “I’ve never seen this level of detail on a holodeck.”

Lexa’s lips curved in a tiny smile, the one that Clarke had come to associate with strong emotion on her part.  “This is Trikru,” she said softly.  “Or, at least, how I remember Trikru.  Lieutenant Commander Reyes helped me develop the program.  We don’t get a lot of opportunities for R&R on a warship, so we mostly have to make do with the holodeck.  I like to come here to train, or sometimes just to clear my head.”

Clarke surveyed the forest again, this time seeing it through Lexa’s eyes.  The quiet, rain-cooled stillness stood in stark contrast to the harsh bustle beyond the holodeck’s confines.  Cast out of place and time herself, the acute yearning for something lost that Clarke sensed in this place resonated deeply.  Content with the tranquility of the moment and Lexa’s closeness, Clarke didn’t speak again until they walked out of the holodeck, still hand in hand.  “I need to beam over to the _Arkadia_ , too,” she said.  “Mind if I walk with you to the transporter room?”

“Actually, I need to run and change into my uniform,” Lexa said, indicating her black training attire.  “But I’ll see you over there.” 

“All right.”  Kissing Lexa farewell seemed like the most natural thing, but Clarke knew that doing so risked reigniting the blaze, so she simply gave Lexa’s hand a fond squeeze and released her to hurry off to her quarters.  Clarke stood in the hall and watched her rush away, because how could she not admire _that_ ass in _those_ leggings?

_Griffin, you are so fucked_. 

*********

Lexa took the fastest sonic shower of her life—which did virtually nothing to cool her desire—changed into a fresh uniform, and beamed over to the _Arkadia_.  She knew she needed to devote all of her attention to her assignment, but it was hard to maintain focus with Clarke just on the other side of the bridge, the taste of her still lingering on Lexa’s lips.  Lexa’s body flushed at the feel of Clarke’s eyes on her.  It didn’t make sense that one woman could unravel her so completely, and with such little effort.  It wasn’t just that Clarke was an attractive woman (an understatement if ever there was one).  Lexa had been with her share of beautiful women, and they never unsettled her to this degree.  No, it was the _connection_ she felt with Clarke that felt foreign.  She’d learned the hard way that existence was fragile; it was unwise to allow herself to get too attached.  With Clarke, though, that connection seemed inevitable, a bond Lexa couldn’t escape even if she wanted to.  That she _didn’t_ want to terrified her most of all, because that meant that now, with Clarke, she had something to lose.   

Lexa ripped her thoughts away from Clarke when she realized Captain Kane was addressing her.  “Lieutenant Woods, nice of you to join us.”  There was an acerbic bite to his greeting.

Lexa hurried over to the Captain’s chair, pointedly ignoring Lieutenant Commander Blake’s smug expression.  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Captain.  No excuse, sir.” 

Kane stood and sighed.  “No, Lieutenant, I’m the one who should apologize.  My tone was uncalled for, especially considering the tremendous work you and your team have done in taking care of my ship and my people.”

Lexa nodded graciously, narrowly containing a smirk as, over the Captain’s shoulder, Blake’s face fell, crestfallen that she’d earned kudos rather than the public reprimand he’d no doubt hoped for.  “I’ll be happy to update you on the progress of the repairs.  We had to come up with workarounds in some cases, but I think the changes will upgrade your systems.”

Kane motioned her over to one of the consoles.  “Yes, I noticed some modifications to the phaser relays, I wonder if you could explain?”

Lexa’s face brightened as she pulled up a schematic and launched into a detailed précis of the specific adaptations and the expected benefits.  Her conference with Kane continued for some minutes, her enthusiasm mounting all the while under the Captain’s astute questioning.  She was so engrossed in their technical back-and-forth that she didn’t catch Clarke’s affectionate smile at her rambling.   

“I think that’s all, Lieutenant.  The _Arkadia_ looks to be in good fighting trim, more than able to hold her own.  That takes a weight off my mind.”  Kane raised his voice.  “I have an announcement.”  The bridge crew fell silent and looked to Kane expectantly.  He took a deep breath.  “After serious consideration, and consultation with Captain Hunter, I’ve determined that the _Arkadia_ will return through the temporal rift, back to our own time.”

The news landed like a collective gut punch.  After an initial stunned silence, murmurs rippled among the bridge staff.  Murphy and Emori had a particularly intense muttered back and forth, until Murphy finally hissed angrily, “No, if he’s gonna get us killed, I at least want to know why.”  He twisted in his seat to face Kane, and with almost insolent desperation, asked, “Why, sir?  Why should we go back to die when we’ve got a second chance right here?”

Blake stepped in to defend his Captain.  “Show some respect, Murphy,” he snapped.  “The Captain doesn’t have to explain himself to you.”

Kane held up a hand.  “No, it’s a fair question.”  He looked at each of his officers with a steady gaze.  “The simple truth is, we don’t belong here.  I feel it, and I think you all do, too.  Our very presence in this time—or our absence in our own—has altered the flow of history.  It might be in minor ways that affect only ourselves and our families, or it might be an effect so consequential as to reshape the historical narrative for billions of lives.  We’ll never know for sure.  But we don’t have the right to risk the futures of so many solely to save our own lives.  Going back would be the right thing to do even if we _didn’t_ know what awaited us on the other side.  And as to that, we all—each and every one of us—made a choice to put on this uniform, knowing what it might require of us.  But we did it because we believe in the Kongeda and what it represents, and we have a duty to live up to those values and that oath, even if it costs us.” 

Kane paused to let his message take hold, then addressed Murphy directly.  “Mr. Murphy, I think you do this ship and your crewmates a disservice by assuming the battle is lost before it’s even begun.  I, for one, am not going back to roll over and die, I’m going back to _fight_.”  The determined fire in the Captain’s voice made even Murphy crack a smile of grudging approval. 

Lexa heard the Captain’s speech with only half an ear, because all her attention now was reserved for Clarke.  Their eyes met across the room.  Lexa knew that the grief, despair, and heartbreak on Clarke’s stricken face only mirrored her own.  The ramifications of Kane’s decision struck her almost like a physical blow, and her chest felt so tight it hurt to breathe.        

There was no time to process their full import.  Ensign Larch had just opened a shipwide channel for the Captain to share his decision with the full crew when a sudden, violent explosion rocked the entire ship.  The jolt’s force knocked some of the bridge staff off their feet and left the others bracing themselves against bulkheads and consoles.

Murphy rapidly scanned his monitor.  “Captain, two vessels just appeared off our starboard bow!”

“On screen!”  Two unidentified ships, military from the look of them, and from their phaser bursts, clearly hostile, screamed past the _Arkadia_ and wheeled around for a second pass. 

“Azgeda,” Lexa snarled, baring her teeth.  She sprinted to the tactical station and took charge of the _Arkadia’s_ weapons and defenses.

“Shields up!  Red Alert!”  Kane ordered.  “Hail the _Polis_ ,” he directed Emori.  “Captain Hunter, we are under attack.  Request assistance.”

Anya’s voice crackled through the speakers.  “Yes, we see them.  Two Azgeda warbirds.  We’re locking in a firing solution now.  Return fire as you can, we’ll try to draw them away.”  On the wall monitor, the _Polis_ began shooting back.

By now, the warbirds had come around for a second onslaught.  Bursts of phaser fire and photon torpedoes caught both the _Arkadia_ and the _Polis_ squarely.  The ship shuddered at the impact, and this time some of the recently-repaired panels came crashing back down.  “Do we have a firing solution?” Kane demanded.  The last blast had almost flung him from the Captain’s chair.

“Aye, sir!”

“Return fire, full spread!”

Lexa hit the commands on her console and the _Arkadia_ spat fire back at the Azgeda attackers.  “Looks like we winged one, but missed the other.” 

“Damage report!”  Kane barked.

“Casualty reports coming in from all over the ship, Captain,” Clarke said worriedly.

“Fires reported on decks 5 through 8, and decompression reported in the main cargo bay,” Lexa said.  “Forward shields are at 40 percent, aft shields are buckling.  Trying to stabilize them now.”  She cursed furiously under her breath in Trikru.  Her hands flew across her keypad as she continued to target the enemy vessels while trying to shore up their own defenses. 

Another round of enemy fire pounded the _Arkadia_.  “Aft shields have failed!  Routing all remaining power to defenses!”  Lexa launched another phaser volley, but as the phasers discharged, a massive explosion ripped through the bridge.  The blast hurled Lexa against the rear bulkhead.  She cracked her head on impact and everything went blurry.  When the wooziness finally subsided, she gingerly hauled herself to her feet, wincing at the pain— _probably a broken rib_ , she thought dispassionately—and tried to resume her post.

The explosion had sparked a fire on the bridge.  Billows of smoke clouded the room.  “Fire control to the bridge!” Lexa shouted.  Her ears were still ringing from the blow, but screams of agony penetrated her dull haze.  They suddenly petered away to silence.  Lexa searched the room frantically.  “Clarke!  _Clarke!_ ”

“Over here!  I need help!”  Clarke called back urgently.  Lexa kicked aside rubble and stumbled to her side.  Clarke was trying to drag a badly-burned figure from the crackling flames, but heavy debris pinned the legs.  “It’s Bellamy!  Help me pull him loose!”

Lexa could tell immediately that there was nothing that could be done.  Bellamy’s flesh was already badly charred and splitting open.  His hair had mostly been scorched away.  His face was locked in a blistered rictus of agony, and his chest wasn’t moving.  He was clearly dead.  She shuddered at the pain he must have felt, but there was no time to dwell on it in the midst of combat.  Clarke was still desperately trying to free him, even though she, too, must have known that it was too late.  Lexa grabbed Clarke’s shoulders, stilling her.  “ _Clarke_.”  Her words were gentle, but firm.  “He’s gone.  You have to look to the others, we’re not out of this yet.” 

Lexa’s touch got Clarke’s attention.  Her eyes were full of anguish, but she released her grip on Bellamy’s body.  “I know.”  Her legs seemed a little shaky as Lexa helped her to her feet, but she quickly regained her fortitude.  “I’m ok,” she said, both to assure Lexa and herself.  She gave Lexa a little nudge.  “Go, I can handle this.”

Lexa gave her arm a quick squeeze and resumed her duties.  She cleared aside some wreckage to reach the nearest terminal, which was surprisingly still functional.  She scanned the readings, certain that the Azgeda fighters would be closing in for the kill; indeed, it was a miracle the _Arkadia_ hadn’t already been destroyed by another barrage.  To her surprise, though, the only ship she detected was the _Polis_. 

“Ensign, what happened?” she asked urgently.  “I’m not picking up the warbirds.”

Emori responded through a coughing fit.  “That last phaser burst took out one of them, and then the other one just vanished.”

A wave of relief flooded over Lexa.  The damage was substantial and they’d lost people, but they had weathered it.  She was alive.  _Clarke_ was _alive_.  She offered silent thanks to the ancient deities she no longer believed in for that.  She began assessing the damage estimates that were pouring in from all corners of the ship so that she could make her report to the Captain.

“Captain, we’re being hailed,” Emori announced.

“ _Polis_ to _Arkadia_.  Nice shooting, Kane.  What’s your status?”

No response.

“ _Polis_ to _Arkadia_.”

“ _Lexa_.”  Clarke’s voice overrode the hail, and this time Lexa detected the frisson of building panic.  She hurried forward to find Clarke kneeling on the floor next to a figure.

“ _Polis_ to _Arkadia_ , please respond.”

Lexa tapped her comm badge.  “Woods to _Polis_ , stand by.”  To Clarke, she said quietly, “What is it?  What’s wrong?” 

“It’s the Captain,” Clarke said woodenly.  “He’s dead.”  Lexa looked down.  Sure enough, the still form that Clarke had been tending to was Captain Kane.  His face looked peaceful, but blood coated his uniform jacket where a stray shard of shrapnel had pierced his chest.  It had been quick.  Lexa swallowed a lump in her throat.  She hadn’t known the man, but his care for his ship and his people had been evident. 

Murphy heaved himself back into his seat, grimacing from the pain of reaggravated injuries.  “I guess that means Blake’s in charge now.”

“Commander Blake is dead, too,” Lexa said absently, her focus still on Clarke and Kane. 

Murphy blinked at the news.  He slumped back in his chair and looked blankly around the bridge, taking in the damage and the few surviving officers.  “Then who’s in command?” he asked in confusion. 

Clarke’s head came up.  Her face was pale, but there was resolve in her eyes.  Her jaw was set and grim.  “I am.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke takes command of the _Arkadia_ and the crews deal with the fallout from the Azgeda attack.

_Captain’s Combat Log Supplemental.  It has been three days since the Arkadia emerged from the temporal anomaly.  We are still awaiting definitive orders from Starfleet Command.  My own inclination, which Captain Kane shared, was that the Arkadia should attempt to return through the rift to her own time and complete her original mission.  Unfortunately, Captain Kane’s death and the damage inflicted by the Azgeda attack have thrown that plan into doubt.  We are currently effecting emergency repairs while we determine the best course of action.  Time is of the essence.  Now that Azgeda has pinpointed our coordinates, it is only a matter of time before they return in greater numbers._

Captain Hunter and Commander Hawthorn entered the _Polis’s_ staff room and sat down at the head of the shiny wood and polished metal conference table.  The other senior officers broke off their conversations and found their seats.  Lexa, Lieutenant Commander Reyes, and Lieutenant Green rounded out the _Polis’s_ contingent.  Only Clarke and Petty Officer Murphy represented the _Arkadia’s_ woefully depleted command staff, Ensign Larch having remained behind in acting command of the damaged ship.  Anya called the briefing to order.

“As I’m sure you’re aware by now, once the _Arkadia’s_ repairs were completed, Captain Kane’s intent was to attempt to return the ship through the anomaly to her own time.  In light of Kane’s death and the new damage sustained in the recent attack, we need to reevaluate the situation and help Dr. Griffin weigh the _Arkadia’s_ options.  Thoughts?”

“This is highly irregular, Captain,” Indra objected.  She eyed Clarke with thinly-disguised skepticism.  “I’m sure Dr. Griffin is a competent medical officer”—Clarke offered an ironic nod at the backhanded praise—“but she has no business in command of a starship.  Under Starfleet regulations, you are authorized to commandeer the ship and appoint an appropriate acting commander.”

“I beg to differ, Commander.”  Clarke’s tone was mild, but across the table from her, Lexa noted the tautness at the corners of her mouth.  “As Chief Medical Officer, I’m well aware of the regulations regarding incapacitation, and as I think you well know, that regulation only applies when all senior command-eligible officers are absent or otherwise incapacitated.  I’m a fully-certified bridge officer with the rank of lieutenant, and Captain Kane made sure I served shifts in the command rotation.  Though I’m sure he never anticipated a scenario like this,” she muttered in an aside to herself.  “Like it or not, I’m in command of the _Arkadia_.”  She gave Indra a brief, wintry smile.

“Agreed.  It’s Dr. Griffin’s call to make.” Anya cut off further debate on the subject and shifted her attention to her science officers.  “What do your analyses indicate?  Is a return through the rift even possible?”

Monty glanced at Raven for support, clearly uncomfortable at being put on the spot.  “It’s still largely speculation, sir, but our scans suggest that the anomaly is symmetrical.  If the _Arkadia_ flew into the rift, theoretically, she would reemerge on the other side at almost the exact instant she disappeared.  But....” He hesitated.

Raven finished his train of thought.  “The distortion is growing increasingly unstable.  The longer we wait, the riskier any attempt becomes.”

“Meaning what?” Clarke asked.

“Meaning temporal shear inside the rift could rip the _Arkadia_ apart,” Raven stated bluntly.

“These are unnecessary risks for virtually no possible gain,” Indra argued.  “Rather than risking our own ship while we repair the _Arkadia_ for a fruitless mission, better that we salvage what we can, scuttle her, and transport her crew to Starbase 214 for reassignment.”

Clarke’s gravelly rasp could have cut diamonds.  “ _No one_ is destroying my ship.” 

Indra glared back at her.  “The Maunon will if you persist in this pointless crusade,” she said harshly.  “Didn’t Kane say you were outnumbered four to one?  If you go back— _if_ Lieutenant Green is correct, and _if_ the rift doesn’t destroy your ship—you’re still flying straight into a massacre.  The _Arkadia_ will be destroyed, and the Narendra Three colony will still be wiped out.  You will accomplish nothing.  What kind of captain throws away the lives of her crew for nothing?”

The dig stung, but Clarke refused to take the bait.  Beside her, Murphy held up his hand to weigh in.  “For the record, I agree with Commander Hawthorn.”  He wilted under the collective censorious stares of the other officers around the table.  “Right.  No one cares,” he mumbled under his breath.  “What else is new.” 

“Not necessarily nothing,” Lexa said thoughtfully, ignoring Murphy’s interruption.  The tiny, grateful curl of Clarke’s lip kindled a warm glow in her belly, but she kept on point.  “Azgeda value honor and courage, especially in battle.  Even if the _Arkadia’s_ rescue attempt fails—” she avoided Clarke’s face, adamantly refusing to think about what her words signified— “such a sacrifice and show of valor against overwhelming odds might be enough to spark a breakthrough in relations.”

“Azgeda have no honor!” Indra spat bitterly.  “They slaughter innocents without mercy!  Look at Trikru!”

“I know as well as anyone about Trikru,” Lexa replied evenly, a warning glint in her eyes.

Captain Hunter spoke up.  “Indra has a point.  Why should we expect anything different from Azgeda?”

“With Nia in power, no.  Under her rule, Azgeda has been utterly ruthless.  But Nia wasn’t always _in_ control,” Lexa countered.  “The Kongeda’s knowledge of Azgeda’s internal politics is limited at best, but from what we’ve pieced together, Nia ascended to the throne around the time the _Arkadia_ disappeared.”

“That’s right!” Clarke blurted.  All eyes swung to her and she colored slightly.  “I mean, I don’t know anything about her taking power, but…it has— _had_ —to do with the peace negotiations.  Damn, I wish I’d paid attention to the details.”  She scrubbed a tired hand across her forehead in frustration.  “Kane would’ve known,” she sighed, the pain of his loss still raw and fresh.  “We’d heard reports that the peace talks had hit a snag.  It had something to do with infighting within the Azgeda ruling council.  One faction favored Nia, but there were others who backed another contender.”

“Her son, Roan,” Lexa confirmed.  “He was popular with the moderates on the council, but he withdrew from politics precipitously and then disappeared.  Rumor had it that he’d been killed, but Starfleet Intelligence was never able to substantiate it.”  She mulled it over.  The shadowy pieces began to coalesce, and she said slowly, “In fact, Azgeda’s power struggle might even explain the Maunon attack.”  Seeing the quizzical frowns of her colleagues, she elaborated.  “Doesn’t the Maunon’s involvement in the Narendra Three attack strike you as strange?”  At Anya’s slow nod, Lexa directed her comments to her.  “The Maunon are dangerous, but they’re cautious.  Cunning.  They rarely strike so brazenly or directly, not unless there’s something definite that they want.  So why did the Maunon target Narendra Three?  It had no major mineral deposits or other significant natural resources worth plundering, it was just a civilian settlement.”

“What was in it for the Maunon?” Anya finished her thought.  She sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers, tapping her index fingers against her lip as she considered the possibilities.         

“Azgeda has always blamed the Kongeda for Narendra Three’s destruction.  It was the first in a string of small, but violent, incidents that caused the cease fire to collapse.  Without evidence to the contrary, the Kongeda had no way to refute the allegations,” Lexa said.

She saw the wheels turning behind Clarke’s shrewd gaze.  Sure enough, Clarke was already one step ahead.  “You think the Maunon staged the attack to throw the blame on the Kongeda.”

“I think there’s more going on here than we know.”  Lexa leaned forward to address Clarke and warmed to her subject with the same enthusiasm Clarke had seen her demonstrate for phaser circuitry.  If the stakes weren’t so great, Clarke would have been perfectly content to soak in the rising pink in Lexa’s cheeks, the earnest shine of green, the emphatic jab of long, slender fingers as she stressed her point with her hands.  “I did some reading on the Narendra Three attack after you—I mean the _Arkadia—_ arrived.”  Heat warmed Lexa’s cheeks at the slip, but she forged on.  “In the year immediately following the attack, Azgeda expanded its fleet substantially.  That in itself wasn’t unusual.  They planned to retaliate; of course they’d improve their readiness.  But what _was_ odd—and what Starfleet Intelligence was never able to account for—was the remarkable technical advances of these new ships.  More powerful phasers.  Enhanced shields.  _Cloaking_ technology.  The timing of the Narendra Three incident and Azgeda’s sudden technological leap forward can’t have been a coincidence.”

Lexa’s intensity was infectious and Clarke eagerly followed her logic.  “First the Maunon faked the Narendra attack, then they supplied Azgeda with tech.  Why?  What’s their endgame?”          

The two women only had eyes for each other as they bounced ideas back and forth, so in sync with each others’ theories that it was as if no one else was in the room.  “The Maunon might have an interest in seeing the Kongeda and Azgeda bleed each other.  A war between them would weaken both powers, without the Maunon having to risk much, or really even lift a finger,” Lexa suggested.   

Clarke’s eyes locked on Lexa’s with a gleam as she played it out.  “The peace negotiations.  Azgeda’s power struggle.  If Roan and the peace faction came out on top, Azgeda and the Kongeda might have reached an agreement.  In time, Azgeda might have even joined the Kongeda, making it even more powerful—and potentially more of a threat to the Maunon.”

“But if the Maunon put a thumb on the scales….” Lexa shrugged expressively.  “It might have shifted Azgeda’s leadership in the opposite direction, toward Nia—and war.”    

The computer’s sudden chime jolted them both out of their very public tete a tete.  They both sat back, a little red-faced at how engrossed they’d gotten in their interaction. 

“Bridge to Captain Hunter.”

“Yes, Mr. Forrest?”

“Sir, we’ve received an urgent subspace transmission from Admiral Titus.”

Anya directed him to route the message to the conference room monitor, and they all angled themselves to see.  A severe-looking bald man in an Admiral’s uniform appeared on the screen.  Captain Hunter greeted him.  “Admiral, a pleasure.  Has Starfleet Command reviewed my report regarding the _Arkadia_?”

“We have, Captain.”  Titus’s reply was clipped.  “I assume by now the _Arkadia’s_ propulsion systems should be back online.”

“Well—” Anya opened her mouth to explain the latest setback, but the Admiral talked over her. 

“Your orders are to escort the _Arkadia_ to Starbase 214 for refurbishment.  Once there, her officers and crew will be reassigned to other commands.  I trust you can inform her captain of these orders.  Kane, is it?”

“Sir, Captain Kane was killed in an Azgeda attack yesterday,” Anya said soberly.

“Oh?”  Titus raised in eyebrow in feigned interest.  “Well, no matter.  The _Arkadia_ will be assigned a new captain once she’s refitted, anyway.” 

Across the table, Lexa swore she could see Clarke’s hackles rising and the steam whistling from her ears.  She found Clarke’s foot under the table with her own and gave it a gentle press.  Clarke’s eyes shot to Lexa, anger apparent in the stormy slate blue.  Lexa understood her seething reaction to Titus’s blithe indifference to her Captain’s fate, but she warned her off with a barely-perceptible head shake.  The tight clench of Clarke’s jaw offered the only indication that she’d heeded the unspoken counsel.

“Admiral, what about the concerns I raised about the integrity of the timeline?”  Anya asked.  A hint of frustration seeped through in her question.

Once again, Titus was dismissive.  “Your concerns have been noted, Hunter.  But what you propose risks damaging the integrity of _our_ timeline.  And as you have nothing but speculation to back your recommendation, Command believes it will be more resource-effective to deploy the _Arkadia_ in the present, rather than hazard her destruction in an endeavor with such a high probability of failure.”

“But Admiral—” Anya tried again, but to no avail.

“That’s all, Captain.  You have your orders.  Titus out.”  His image on the screen blinked out and was replaced with the Kongeda emblem.

The energy in the room deflated in the aftermath of Titus’s pronouncement.  “Well, I suppose that’s that,” Anya said, resigned, if less than pleased. 

Clarke, however, spoke calmly, as if nothing had happened.  “Commander Reyes, how quickly can you have the _Arkadia’s_ weapons systems and basic functions operational?”

“Probably within twenty-four hours.  She weathered the attack pretty well, all things considered.  An overloaded phaser coil caused some of the heaviest damage on the bridge, but we’re working on repairing the faulty power coupling now.  Her defenses and shields should be up to speed soon.  The real problem is the warp drive.”  Raven said, looking frustrated.  “We’ve gotten impulse power back online, but the damage to the warp engines is far more extensive, and having to manufacture replacement parts has set us back.  The engineering teams are working as fast as we can, but I’m afraid we won’t be able to embark for Starbase 214 until warp is restored.” 

Clarke seemed unconcerned by this news.  “We won’t need warp drive to return through the rift.”

Anya fixed sharp eyes on Clarke.  “Doctor, you heard the Admiral.  You have your orders.”

Clarke met Anya’s gaze directly, the same steely determination writ on her face that Lexa had seen when she’d described entering Starfleet.  “No, Captain,” she said firmly.  “The _Arkadia_ is going back.  Admiral Titus is _your_ commander, not mine.  I have no Admiral Titus in my direct chain of command, and I do not acknowledge his authority.  The _Arkadia_ will return to our own time.”                  

Anya’s warning stare bored into Clarke.  “This is insubordination.  You realize that’s a court-martial offense, Doctor.”

Clarke finally lost her temper.  “Then take me into custody!” she retorted bitterly, holding up her wrists for the manacles.  “But I have a duty as a Starfleet officer to preserve the integrity of the timeline— _my_ timeline!  Captain Kane knew it, and you do, too!”    

Anya’s eyes flashed dangerously.  “Don’t test me,” she snapped, her own temper pushed to the limit.  “But _technically_ , you’re correct.  And since your superior officers in 2349 are unavailable for comment,” her lips twisted sardonically at the stretch, “far be it from me to interfere with an officer carrying out her duty.”

Indra’s head whipped to Anya in shock.  “Captain, you can’t seriously be thinking of _allowing_ this!”

Anya’s shrug was disingenuous.  “It’s not for me to allow or disallow.  I will carry out _my_ orders.  Whether Dr. Griffin abides by the Admiral’s dictates is her decision.”

“Captain, if we armed the _Arkadia_ with up-to-date weaponry, she’d at least have a fighting chance against the Maunon warbirds,” Raven suggested.

Lexa knew what the Captain was going to say— _had_ to say—before she opened her mouth, but a cold ball of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach at her words.  “No.  Sending her back with advanced technology would constitute altering the timeline, whether she survives the encounter with the Maunon or not.  The _Arkadia_ will have to make do on her own.”

The meeting adjourned shortly thereafter.  The other officers scattered to attend to their respective responsibilities, but Lexa hung back, hoping for a stray moment with Clarke.  From Clarke’s dawdling, she had the same idea.  Their paths intersected at the corner of the conference table.  Lexa took Clarke’s unresisting hand.  She backpedaled a step or two to perch a hip on the edge of the table, gently drawing Clarke with her until Clarke stood almost between her legs.  A maelstrom of emotions—doubt, fear, sorrow, despair—warred within the depths of Clarke’s eyes, and Lexa felt her own heart crack.  She cast thoughts of propriety and self-preservation aside—for Clarke had already pierced those walls—and enfolded Clarke in her arms. 

Clarke’s shoulders trembled and her head burrowed into the juncture of Lexa’s neck.  Her fingers clutched at Lexa’s back, and Lexa was sure she could feel the sting of hot tears searing through the fabric of her uniform.  She closed her eyes to ward off tears of her own and held Clarke tighter, dropping a gentle kiss at the crown of her head and seeking to convey some of her own strength to Clarke.  They clung to each other for long minutes that they wished could be eternity.  Eventually Lexa felt the strain ease from Clarke’s shoulders and an endearing little snuffle signaled the end of her tears. 

Clarke pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against Lexa’s, neither of them capable of breaking the embrace just yet.  “I don’t want to let you go,” Lexa whispered, almost more to herself than to Clarke.  “How am I supposed to let you go?”  She understood Clarke’s decision; would probably have made the same choice herself had she been in Clarke’s place, but she couldn’t stem the raw plea as her eyes searched Clarke’s. 

“I know,” Clarke whispered back, her wet eyes shimmering a fathomless, ocean blue.  Her voice cracked, then firmed as Clarke found her resolve.  “I don’t want to go.  But I have to do this.  And you have to let me.”

Lexa’s eyes closed and she sighed, nodding against Clarke’s forehead in resignation.  “We make a good team, you and I,” she murmured sadly.

“Yeah.”  Clarke pressed soft lips to Lexa’s forehead and gently soothed her hands up and down Lexa’s upper arms, giving her some of her comfort back.  “I think if you were fighting the Maunon with me, we might actually stand a chance,” she said wistfully.  Her hands eventually stilled, and she stepped back and let go.  “I should go,” she said, her voice laced with regret.  “I’ve got a lot to do.”

Lexa let her hands drop and straightened to her feet.  “I know.  I’ll head over to the _Arkadia_ shortly to oversee the tactical repairs.”  Her professional demeanor lapsed again, just for a moment.  “Will I see you later?  Before you…go?”

“Yes.  I promise.”  Clarke gave Lexa quick, fierce nod, then squared her shoulders and marched out to take up the burden of command.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotten busy with work and life and haven't had time to work on the next chapters, so updates will be a bit less frequent from here on out. But please stay tuned, there is more to come.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you who are still reading and waiting patiently for an update! I know it's been forever, but I haven't given up on this story, I've just been hella blocked and life got busy. Hopefully the rest of it won't take so damn long.

Lexa wandered into Ten Forward and sank wearily onto a stool at the counter.  It would have been a grueling day even without her frayed emotions threatening to unravel at every turn.  In some ways, though, the urgent demands of her work had been a blessing.  It forced her to concentrate on the task before her instead of giving vent to the howl of anguish that clawed silently at her throat every time she thought of Clarke.  But now that she had a free moment to herself, all of the sorrow and guilt came roaring back, so thick it seemed to choke her.

One of the counter staff appeared to take her order.  Lexa absently told him to bring her the daily special.  It didn’t really matter what it was.  She had no appetite and the food would just turn to ash in her mouth anyway, but experience or force of habit told her that she’d need energy to keep up a strong front in the hours ahead. 

_Clarke_.      

Lexa had hoped to share her dinner break with Clarke, to seize every available moment left to them before the _Arkadia_ embarked on her fateful journey.  When her meal time came, though, Clarke was still immersed in responsibilities and being tugged in umpteen different directions.  The strain was beginning to show in the pinched furrow of her brow and the downturn of her lips.  Lexa knew Clarke couldn’t afford any distractions, so she quietly slipped back to her own vessel and left her to get on with her duties. 

Lexa fidgeted moodily with her drink while she waited for her food.  She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somehow to blame for the weight of command devolving upon Clarke.  After all, she had made the modifications that ultimately overloaded the phaser coil and caused the fateful bridge explosion that had killed Kane and Blake.  Except for Lieutenant Commander Reyes, no one was better versed in weapons systems and schematics. 

_You thought you were so clever, rerouting those phaser relays.  You should have known they couldn’t handle the load._

Objectively, she knew it wasn’t true.  There was no way to know the coupling would fail; it might have happened even if she hadn’t tinkered with the relays.  But the sense of guilt still gnawed at her. 

_If you hadn’t fired a full spread, maybe it wouldn’t have blown_.

_You know you had no choice.  The ship was under attack._

_Better to lose the few than the many._

She could have lived with her actions— _had_ lived with decisions that cost lives before—but for their impact on Clarke.  They’d all heard Kane’s plan; she knew that the _Arkadia_ , and Clarke, would have attempted the return regardless, but at least if Kane had lived, the burden of that decision wouldn’t have been on Clarke’s shoulders alone. 

A server placed Lexa’s meal in front of her.  She dutifully began to push the food around the plate.  She’d just forced down a few bites when all at once she felt a cold chill trickle down her spine.  She looked up to find Gaia just on the other side of the counter, once again staring at her, unblinking, her dark eyes almost obsidian.  The fine hairs on the back of Lexa’s neck prickled at her expression.  In that moment, Lexa recalled the surreptitious whispers that had floated amongst some of her Trikru shipmates when Gaia first came aboard the _Polis_ : that she was a soothsayer; a priestess versed in the ancient Trikru traditions; even a purveyor of dark arts.  The rumors had faded as quickly as they’d begun, and Lexa had never put stock in them.  Until now. 

Lexa had had enough.  She put her fork down with an exasperated sigh and beckoned to Gaia.  Gaia glided over at her summons.  Her neutral tone didn’t quite mask the wary uneasiness in her eyes as she regarded Lexa.

“Can I get you something, Lieutenant?” 

Lexa frowned.  She cocked her head at an angle and gave Gaia a long, appraising look of her own before she answered.  “No,” she said slowly, “but I think it’s time you explained why you’ve been staring at me these last few days.”

Gaia avoided her eyes and polished the counter with a cloth.  “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Don’t give me that,” Lexa said, a sharp edge to her voice.  “I’ve seen you watching me.  Giving me strange looks every time I come in.  And just now, calling me lieutenant?  We’ve never stood on rank before.  What’s going on?”  Lexa saw the hesitance in Gaia’s face and she pressed harder.  “Come on, Gaia,” she urged gently.  “We’ve known each other a long time, I can tell when you’re holding back.”

The cloth stilled in Gaia’s hand and she finally met Lexa’s gaze.  “That’s just it,” she said simply.  “We aren’t supposed to know each other at all.”  Seeing the baffled expression on Lexa’s face, she continued.  “I can’t really explain it any better to you than I have to the Captain.  She thinks it’s just a feeling, but I _know_ , in my bones, that all of _this—_ ” she nodded to indicate the room “—is wrong.”    

“Wrong…how?”

Gaia sighed.  “It’s not as clear as that.  I can’t see any specifics.  But we’re not supposed to be at war.  All of this violence and death….”  She shook her head without finishing the thought.  “Ever since that other ship arrived, things have been different.  Off.” 

“It changed the timeline,” Lexa murmured to herself, Gaia’s words adding confirmation to what she already suspected.  “But what does that have to do with me?  Even if what you say is true, I haven’t seen you look at anyone else the way you have at me.  What did you mean, ‘we’re not supposed to know each other?’”

“Because in the other timeline, the one we _should_ be living, you’re not here.  We’ve never served together.”

Lexa shook her head and tried to brush it off, refusing to accept what her mind already knew to be true.  “What, you think I’m on another ship?  Or not in Starfleet?”

Gaia’s voice was kind, but certain.  “No, Lexa.  You’re dead.” 

Lexa sat back in her chair and let out a long breath.  The chatter and commotion of the bustling canteen receded into the background.  Heavy silence hung between them as she absorbed Gaia’s statement, unseeing eyes roving around the room.  After a long moment, Lexa came back to herself.  “How?” she asked hoarsely, her eyes finding Gaia’s.

“I don’t know,” Gaia said quietly.  “I told you, I only have impressions, not details.  But I can tell you it was a senseless death, without purpose.” 

That revelation pained Lexa most of all.  She’d long accepted that she might die in battle, but that was an honorable fate and a risk that came with the uniform.  But to die for nothing….

“I’m sorry.”  Gaia’s voice startled Lexa out of her drifting thoughts again.

Lexa’s own voice sounded foreign to her ears.  “No, it’s…I asked.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”  Lexa’s response was automatic.  The silence lengthened between them until Lexa finally met Gaia’s eyes, now tinged with regret and concern.  Lexa’s air of bravado wilted.  “Not really,” she conceded with a wan smile.  “Just…I think I’d like to be alone.”

Gaia nodded once, a deep, almost formal, bow of acknowledgment, then glided silently away.  Lexa sat motionless for a long while, her forgotten meal cold and congealing on her plate as troubled thoughts roiled her mind. 

*********

Lexa prowled restlessly around her quarters, sleep a distant afterthought.  Gaia’s words— _senseless death_ , _without purpose_ —seemed to mock her at every turn with an unshakeable dissonance she felt to her core.  Without really thinking, she picked up her hairbrush from the bathroom vanity and began to slowly brush out her hair as she paced.  The familiar ritual soothed her until some of her tension abated.   

The door chime broke through her daze.  She laid the brush aside, raising a startled eyebrow at the lateness of the hour—how had so much time passed?—and said, “Come in.”

The doors slid open to reveal Clarke on the other side.  Her wrinkled uniform and the dark shadows under her eyes testified to a taxing duty shift.  Though undoubtedly tired, her eyes lit up at the sight of Lexa.  Lexa felt her own lips curve in an answering smile and the weight she’d carried all day simply drained away.  “ _Clarke_ ,” she said, a soft exhale of surprise.  “It’s late.  I wasn’t expecting—I mean, I assumed you were busy, or that you needed to rest,” she stammered.

“I am…I do….” Clarke paused as if to say more, but then only shrugged helplessly and scrubbed a hand across the tiny lines that furrowed her brow. 

Lexa finally remembered her manners and hastily invited her inside.  The door closed behind her with a silent hiss.  Though Clarke seemed outwardly calm, albeit weary, Lexa recognized in the set of her jaw and the stiffness of her shoulders some of the same vibrating tension she’d felt all day herself.  Clarke brushed past Lexa into her quarters, pacing restlessly back and forth across the room. 

“When do you leave?” Lexa asked quietly.

Clarke huffed out a mirthless laugh and glanced at her.  “The repairs should be completed by 0900, so…” she shrugged again.  “You’re right, I know you’re right,” continued, as if Lexa had admonished her.  “I should be sleeping, or reviewing status updates, or….”  She picked up Lexa’s hairbrush off the table where she’d laid it down and turned it over absently in her hand, seemingly without awareness, before setting it back down.  She wandered over to the bulkhead and gazed out the window into the yawning black of deep space.  “But I couldn’t,” she said in a small, empty voice.

Lexa eased up behind her and gently laid her hands on Clarke’s shoulders, feeling them tense and then relax at her touch.  “I know.”

Clarke went on as if Lexa hadn’t spoken.  “I’ve spent all day putting out fires—some of them literal—and trying to brush up on tactics in between crises; knowing the right maneuver could make all the difference between—” her voice trailed away without finishing the thought and her shoulders sagged under Lexa’s hands.  They both knew that in the _Arkadia’s_ situation there was only one likely outcome.

Clarke turned to face Lexa.  Her blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and some of her anger and despair finally boiled over.  “I never asked for this!  Dammit, Lexa, I’m a _doctor,_ not a soldier!  I’m supposed to _help_ people, to _save_ lives, not take them.  I don’t know how to _do_ this!”

Lexa flashed to the staff briefing and Clarke’s assured aura of command, but she let Clarke rage herself out.  “Yes, you do,” she said firmly.  “You’re a leader.  Your people look up to you—even Murphy.  You give them hope.  You were born for this, Clarke, same as me.” 

Lexa’s conviction seemed to bolster Clarke.  “Same as you,” she echoed quietly to herself.  Her burst of frustration faded as quickly as it had appeared, to be replaced with an altogether different kind of emotion.  She and Lexa unconsciously edged closer to each other, until their bodies were almost touching.  Clarke’s voice lowered.  “All day I’ve been trying to concentrate on photon banks and power couplings, but I can’t stop thinking about you.  Us.”  Her glance flicked up to meet Lexa’s.  “What if?  What if things were different, if our paths had crossed under different circumstances?” 

Lexa’s breath hitched, whether from Clarke’s nearness or Gaia’s awful knowledge, she couldn’t say.  “Maybe someday,” she choked out, her gaze slipping to Clarke’s mouth. 

Hesitation hung thick between them.  Lexa was sure Clarke could hear the unsteady thrum of her pulse as she searched Lexa’s face, and then the dam broke.  “Fuck someday,” Clarke whispered roughly, and then her fingers threaded through Lexa’s hair and her lips were on Lexa’s.

Lexa met Clarke’s hunger with her own, surging forward with an almost relieved sob at the heat of Clarke’s mouth _finally_ on her own.  The kiss was fierce at first, tongues sliding between panted shudders and hands grasping desperately for purchase, both of them greedy for each other.  Clarke brimmed with the need to feel alive for what might be the last time; Lexa brimmed with the need to feel Clarke.         

The kiss broke with a startled gasp when Lexa’s back hit the bulkhead.  Clarke drew away just enough to look Lexa in the face as they both caught their breath.  Her hand rose to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind Lexa’s ear.  Lexa leaned into Clarke’s palm with a faint sigh, sure that her own expression mirrored Clarke’s: cheeks flushed, lips trembling, eyes heavy-lidded and gone dark with desire.  As their eyes swept over each other, the frantic urgency of the past few minutes softened.  They melted together into another kiss, still intense, but with the unspoken realization that if this all-too-brief tryst was the only “someday” they would ever have, these were moments to be savored, not rushed. 

Lexa captured both of Clarke’s hands in hers and wordlessly steered her across her quarters to her sleeping area, stealing deep, searching kisses along the way as if driven by a physical imperative to maintain touch.  Clarke helped her shed her soft sleep garments, now rumpled from the clutch of Clarke’s hands.  And then Lexa returned the favor, slowly kissing her way over silky smooth skin as she worked Clarke out of her uniform jumpsuit, until they were both laid bare to each other and all Lexa could think was _beautiful_. 

They tumbled into Lexa’s bed, clever fingers and eager mouths grazing tentatively, carefully, at first, then with more assurance as they learned each other’s most secret places in a tumult of gasps and whispered pleas and fevered cries.  Tears streaked both their faces when they broke around each other yet again, deep in the night, tears that they both knew could have no place on the morrow.  Bone tired and muscles loose and trembling from release, still they reached for each other for what might be that _last time_ , letting their bodies speak the words they might have eventually brought themselves to say aloud if there had been more time.

Clarke started to rouse sometime in the wee hours—or was it early morning now?  She yawned and stretched fretfully against Lexa’s dozing form.  “I should go back to my quarters,” she  mumbled into the pillow they shared.  “It’ll be first shift soon.”

“Shhh.”  Lexa’s arms wrapped around her, folding her tighter.  She nuzzled into Clarke’s shoulder and ghosted a sleepy, humid kiss there.  “Stay.  Just a little longer,” she murmured.

Clarke relaxed into her arms and back into slumber, loathe to leave Lexa’s strong, sheltering embrace.  Soon her breathing evened out in rhythm with Lexa’s, both of them spent, minds and souls finally quiet.             

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to hit me up on tumblr at [barbieliberationarmy](https://barbieliberationarmy.tumblr.com/).


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